


for love is such a daily good thing

by tryalittlejoytomorrow



Series: walked into love with you [2]
Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, In-Canon, Light Angst, Married Life, Pregnancy, Romance, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 18:04:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11765406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryalittlejoytomorrow/pseuds/tryalittlejoytomorrow
Summary: "Happiness suits you," Livia said softly. "He's good for you. He balances you." She paused. "You balance him, too. You're more carefree around him, and he's softer around you."--There's happily ever after, and there's the making of happily ever after. Benvolio and Rosaline are getting there.Sequel to "no remedy for love"





	for love is such a daily good thing

**Author's Note:**

> here it is, this monster of an epilogue to no remedy for love, though it can be read alone for it is everything I've ever wanted for them: love, love, and more love. and sex, too, lbh.
> 
> a huge thank you to my partner in Rosvolio crime @queenofchildren for supporting me all throughout the 3 weeks this baby monster took off my life. :p
> 
> Title from Hazel Dickens' "Pretty Little Bird"

When Rosaline woke up the next morning, warm and sated in her husband's arms, she felt giddy and light-hearted like she never had before.

She waited for embarrassment or doubt to come, but they _never_ did. Her whole body felt pleasantly flushed at Benvolio's contact; his nose pressed in the crook of her neck, his beard tickling her sensitive skin as he nuzzled there in sleep, his muscled chest pressed to her bare back and his arm wrapped snugly around her waist anchoring her to him, and Rosaline couldn't help smiling into her hand. She could have laid there happily forever if not for the growing, restless energy she felt thrumming through her body as vivid images from the night before resurfaced in her mind, memories and sensations making heat pool low in her belly again - it was such a thrill, allowing herself to _love_ and _want_ Benvolio.

Telling him so had not been as terrifying or life-shattering as she'd feared; hearing him say the words in turn as he was still pressed into her, kissing her like he could never have enough of her... Rosaline felt herself blush, heat spreading over her as she realized she felt the same. The tales she'd heard of maidens on their wedding night, the lessons on duty and honor and virtue she had been taught, had _not_ prepared her for the sheer, unadulterated _pleasure_ Benvolio had been so keen on giving her - a pleasure she'd learned in one night she also wished to give him again and again. Had she looked just as overwhelmed as he had when her hand had found him, learned his shape, his eyes slowly dropping close as he moved against her? Had her moans sounded just as wrecked as his, her name torn on his tongue, the sweetest melody? Rosaline wanted to feel him like this again, to learn more about the ways to make him gasp against her neck, but also to let herself melt around him and chase that blissful release that came in mid fall.

Sliding her hand down to the arm he had wrapped around her, Rosaline twined her fingers with his, but not before smoothing her thumb over the matching golden band on his finger. It clinked against hers and the reality of their commitment made her heart skip a beat - Benvolio was her husband, but now he was _hers_ as much as she was his. She lifted their twined hands higher, pressing a soft, gentle kiss on the inside of his palm before she held them tight against her racing heart.

Behind her Benvolio started stirring; slowly he came awake, and Rosaline felt him tighten his hold on her, and though they already touched from shoulder to toe it felt delightful that he tried to reduce the infinitesimal space between them even more. She could feel him all around her and it made her feel _safe_ , content, and not trapped or overly coddled. Sleepily he kissed at her shoulder, the side of her neck; his fingers squeezed hers back. Looking at him over her shoulder Rosaline met his eyes, a little hooded from sleep but instantly sparking upon seeing her. His hair was mussed and messily covering his forehead and eyes and Rosaline let go of his hand to reach back and brush it away, letting her hand linger at his cheek for a minute, the scruff of his beard prickling at her fingertips and sending another spark of excitement dance along her spine.

He leaned forward then, lids half-closed and his nose softly bumping against hers as he pressed his lips to her mouth in a gentle, almost lazy kiss. To Rosaline it felt like a _hello_ and an _I love you_ all at once, and she softened around him, her body humming and pliant as Benvolio's hands turned her around, a low, satisfied sigh leaving his lips as he had better access to kiss her at his leisure now. He crowded her, half-pressed into her as he nudged one leg between hers and hovered above her with one elbow propping him at her side, his free hand drawing lazy, soothing circles at her bare hip. Rosaline felt her pulse pick up, and Benvolio's heart thumped hard and fast against her hand as she settled it on his chest. He kissed her like he would never stop, never wished to, and Rosaline couldn't imagine why she would either - when Benvolio kissed her it felt like everything around her ceased existing, time and space and people irrelevant. Why would she ever leave their bed when she could spend all of her time here in his arms? Why had she denied herself for so long?

His lips left her mouth to brush her cheek tenderly, and Benvolio all but purred low in his throat when her free hand came up to his neck, her short nails scratching at the nape before they started sifting in his hair. For a moment he allowed himself to close his eyes and let his head fall to the slope of her neck, and Rosaline couldn't help but kiss his forehead, feeling a surge of fondness for her husband. She was starting to think that this was her favorite version of him - soft and quiet and entirely hers.

Benvolio pulled away, hovering above her once more. The hand at her hip drifted up, his fingers tickling at her ribs, teasing at the sensitive skin of her breast, her collarbone, before they came up to her face and brushed lost curls from her face. "God, you look so beautiful in the morning light," he murmured, his voice husky from sleep and emotion both.

Rosaline grinned, biting at her lip to hide her smile. She let out a little sigh as she pushed at his chest, playful and a little bashful at his unrestrained admiration. "You've seen me plenty a morning before," she chided him as she tilted her head away, the intensity in his eyes too much.

"True," he conceded with a quick peck to her lips before he curled his fingers under her chin and tilted her face so she looked at him again. "And you were just as beautiful then as you are now, Capulet."

"Flatterer," Rosaline sighed softly, feeling her cheeks flush even more at his words and gaze than from his bold touches.

Benvolio grinned, smug and joyous, and Rosaline touched her fingers to the dimples in his cheeks, cupping his face and pulling him in for another kiss. She felt his grin grow wider against her mouth, and his breath hitch in his throat as her hands roamed to the planes of his chest, his back, down to his hips. He rocked involuntarily against her, and for all his sweet talking Rosaline could _feel_ just how very _genuine_ Benvolio was in his admiration of her.

She felt pride swell up in her heart upon knowing _she_ was responsible for his interest, that it was her touch that had evoked such a response in him. It was exhilarating, and Rosaline let herself ride the high, her hands growing bolder as she sought him out with her fingers.

Benvolio trembled as she brushed a lone finger against him and groaned low in his throat. "You'll be the death of me, Capulet," he half-laughed, half-gasped in her ear.

Rosaline beamed, pressed a lazy kiss to his temple as she wrapped her hand fully around him, savoring the feel of his skin, the power she had, not _over_ him exactly, but the power that came from the knowledge of his body, its sensitive spots and sharper edges, and how she could only learn _more_ every time they were like this, skin to skin and heart to heart. Inexperienced as she might be Benvolio had made her feel anything _but_ , as eager to please her as he'd been to show her how to reciprocate. "Do you - do you not wish to call me _Montague_ now?" she asked low in his ear, baffled at her own boldness, at the seduction in her voice despite the growing flutter of her stomach - touching him left her just as breathless.

Benvolio chuckled against her skin, his own hands and lips tracing a heated path of their own on her body. "Lying with you did _not_ make me the master of you," he said, firm and true, before he lifted his head up and gave her a slow, wolfish grin. "Besides, Capulet, _you_ are the one having me wrapped around -"

"Don't!" Rosaline laughed, and pressed a hand to his mouth to shush him, the fingers around him loosening their grip. The heat she felt in her face was _definitely_ because of her husband's cheekiness, devil Montague like she'd been warned against in all his splendor.

Benvolio smiled against her hand, nipping at the back of her fingers with his teeth. She'd quite never seen him so carefree and the sight endeared him to her even more. Like this he looked his young years more so than usual; and his smile was contagious for Rosaline felt young and bold and happy _too_ like she'd never imagined her marriage to Benvolio Montague could make her. Whatever she'd imagined - a somewhat alliance, a forced truce as they'd have to spend their life together - could never compete with the way he looked at her now, the way he held her, the way she felt her heart was about to explode from how much she loved him. She'd held onto the Capulet name for so long for it was _home_ , her father's name, her pride, yet a name was but a name and she'd grown to cherish the Montague name for it was her charming, kind husband's, and hers, and _theirs_ , something unique that went beyond the lord and lady title, beyond the sense of territoriality their uncles put into it. She was a Capulet _and_ a Montague _both_ , and perhaps being with Benvolio was not the only reason for the transition in her heart but it _had_ made her reflect on it somehow. She wasn't so much a Montague now more than she'd been since he'd put a ring on her finger, but she truly felt _his_ now, and it felt _good_ , finding her home in a _person_ more so than in a name.

Benvolio kept smiling but grew serious around the corners of his mouth as he butted his head against her hand and made his way to her lips, kissing her slow and sweet. His arms wrapped around her and Rosaline felt a shiver run down her spine as his chest pressed against hers, and her own arms came around his neck, keeping him close. She moaned his name when he bit at her bottom lip, and Benvolio's breathless, almost absent " _God, I love you_ ," came out as a soft prayer against her mouth.

Rosaline felt like the air had been knocked out of her lungs upon hearing him whisper those words again, this time not in the afterglow, not in response to her own declaration but of his own volition, and the heat, the fire that his kisses had been stoking, his hands and his lips and his tongue fanning sparks over a flame that Rosaline believed could no longer be tamed, only grew brighter, more vivid, more urgent. Rosaline lifted her knee, curled her leg around his hips, trying to get him closer, _needing_ him like she'd never needed anything, _anyone_ else before.

Benvolio groaned, something caught halfway between a chuckle and a moan. "You - the death of me, I tell you," he babbled, kissing away at every patch of skin he could reach as he trailed a path down her neck, her chest, his hand slipping down her stomach and between her legs. Rosaline's breath caught in her throat again at the contact as she grew tense, her body still sensitive to his touch, and he withdrew his hand instantly, looking torn and guilty. "Did I -" he started, looking down at her body as if he expected to find scars marring her skin, his eyes growing wider at the thought that he could have _hurt_ her.

"No, no," Rosaline immediately tried to soothe him, though she felt overwhelmed by his consideration, not a surprise but still so sweet, and it was still a lot to process and take in, how kind and thoughtful and sweet her Montague husband was sometimes. " _No_ ," she insisted, cupping his face with both her hands to make him look her in the eye. "Love requires adjustments, remember?" she echoed his words from weeks before, and though she'd been amused then she now realized how good an image it'd been. The pain she'd feared had been nothing but a sharp sting, an invasion he'd helped her conquer with his thoughtfulness; the soreness she felt, Rosaline imagined, compared to the way her muscles burned after a ball and a night of dancing after going so long without it. "And there _was_ quite a lot to..." she didn't finish her sentence, gesturing vaguely at his lower body and biting at her lip, waiting for him to taunt her.

But he didn't. Benvolio simply smiled, a little cheeky for sure, a lot proud of himself, _beautiful_ , but he didn't say a word as he kissed her again, his hands resolutely resting higher on her body. Rosaline felt a wave of confusion rush over her, her body still thrumming with energy and desire; she _did_ want him but she didn't know how to say it, or what to do when her own body betrayed her, the ache at her core both begging for his touch but still sensitive. Benvolio seemed to find an answer to her dilemma on his own as his lips left hers to make their way down her body. He suckled at a spot beneath her ear that made her thighs clench together around the knee he'd nudged between her legs; when his mouth found her breasts it only took a little show of teeth to make her keen his name, torn between every syllable. When he nipped at the jut of her hipbone, flicked his tongue at her navel, and then trailed a path of wet, hot kisses down, Rosaline felt herself tense despite herself.

The night before it'd been because of the unknown; she'd _never_ heard of men doing that, nor _fathomed_ the very idea that they could want to do this. That Benvolio had focused on her pleasure first, on learning her body, on worshipping her, had made her see stars at the first flick of his tongue. Now though, Rosaline felt apprehensive, wondering if perhaps -

"Can I?" Benvolio asked softly, his voice cutting in her musings and bringing her back to the reality of the moment, to the feel of the gentle kiss he pressed against the skin of her inner thigh, the way his warm breath fanned over her wetness, proof that she wanted even if she did not know how to reach for it.

She wondered briefly if he'd be disappointed if she could not find her pleasure, if she herself would be chagrined over it. But the look in Benvolio's eyes, his focus on her and only on her, gave her the courage to try. "Aye," she nodded her head and took a deep breath as she laid her head back on her pillow, willing her body to relax and surrender to sensation. He'd given her so much pleasure the night before, Rosaline _didn't_ doubt Benvolio could find his way around a little soreness.

He bit at the spot at her inner thigh he'd been kissing and Rosaline all but squeaked, wondering what exactly Benvolio's goal was when he licked at the sore spot and she felt her body respond to the sensation on its own, desire pulsing in her core.

The death of him, he'd said, but what of the death of _her_? She was a lady, and surely it was no lady's business to writhe and moan as her lord tried and _succeeded_ in finding all her sweet spots. Rosaline never knew the back of her knee to be so sensitive until Benvolio suckled a mark there, the side of her ankle so ticklish, nor her heart to sustain the fast rhythm it'd started beating almost painfully in her ribcage. By the time Benvolio finally touched her there, easing her into the gently give and take as his tongue lapped and swirled around her, the scratch of his scruff adding to the delirious fever he had her under, a thin sheet of sweat was covering her skin, her ears buzzing with the deafening drumming of her heart.

Soon the dull ache faded, leaving only room for Benvolio and pleasure, the two laced so intimately in her mind Rosaline couldn't tell them apart. His fingers were splayed at her hips, holding her still as she'd started rolling her hips, chasing that sweet release with an almost indecent fervor that would have left Rosaline blushing if only she cared about anything _else_ but reaching for it. _This_ was hers for the taking; but she needed _more_ , remembered the feeling of his finger inside her, of him, and felt almost hollow without it, and that just wouldn't do, she decided.

She pulled herself up, propped on shaky elbows, and the sight of him between her legs almost had her coming undone. Rosaline keened his name, pulling at his hair, yanking him by the shoulder, and instantly erased the confused look on his face as she kissed him hard, wrinkling her nose a little as she tasted herself on his tongue. "Too - too much?" he still inquired when she released him.

Rosaline shook her head. She'd been just _there_ , she knew, but she wanted him even more. If anything, it'd been not nearly _enough_ \- not because of his lack of effort and diligent focus, but because she craved to feel him seated deep within her again. "I want _you_ ," she almost commanded, seeking him out with her hip and leg.

Benvolio gave her a bruising kiss then, one hand sliding in her hair, fingers tightening at the nape of her neck as his free hand went to her thigh, opening her leg for him as he took his place there. "You'll ruin me, sweet wife," he murmured against her lips as he rocked his hips against her, his length grazing against her core, the apex of her thighs, hot and heavy and perfect.

Rosaline whimpered at the contact, squeezing her knees around him to keep him right there. _He_ was going to ruin her if he kept speaking like that; there was something religious _and_ unholy in the way he talked and looked at her, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire, his hands burning through her skin. The feel of him, the want for him, were _already_ ruining her, as much as the very thought that no matter how many women he'd been with before he still looked at her like she was special, precious and dear. She felt it in the way he touched his forehead to hers as he pushed in slowly, eyes focused on her every reaction, tiny as they might be. Soreness left room for the quiet, low gasp that escaped her lips at the fullness of him seated within her, the feeling still new but familiar already, Rosaline felt herself instantly clenching around him. Benvolio moaned then, something hoarse and raw in his throat, and Rosaline marveled at the control he had over himself, remaining still like this even as his eyes closed at the sensation, his fingers digging into the pliant flesh of her thigh, her backside.

His breath was ragged as he hid his face in her neck, and Rosaline couldn't help but tease him. "Don't go dying on me now, husband," she laughed sweetly, her hand stroking soothing circles on his back.

Benvolio nipped at her clavicle, earning him a small gasp from her. " _Before_ I honor my wife all through the _morning_? Never," he shook his head, fond and ridiculous.

Rosaline rolled her eyes at that. "You speak of honor, but I am _yet_ to feel it," she taunted. As much as she was grateful for his stillness, for the way it helped her get used to the feel of him, Rosaline was pretty sure she would go _mad_ if he didn't move.

Benvolio looked up at her at her words, a mischievous gleam sparking in his eye. "Devilish Montague you _are_ , Capulet," he chuckled as he pressed his lips to her. "Are you well?" he asked, soft.

She nodded her head and he began to move, slow and sweet, his pace indulgent as they got reacquainted with each other's bodies. Benvolio shivered, a soft, low exhale leaving his lips when her fingers danced along his spine, and Rosaline found herself whimpering when he kissed down her jaw, her chin, nipping along the slope of her neck as he ended suckling at the hollow of her throat. It _would_ leave a mark, Rosaline knew, same as the crescent indents left by her nails at his back, his hips, as she dug her fingers in his flesh, urging him on. Benvolio caught up on her request quickly, pulling out completely before he slammed back in once, twice, and his fingers sought out hers bunched around their sheet, his hand lacing with her own.

She could feel herself get closer to that glorious peak; her blood was racing in her veins, at her temple, her muscles aching with tension as she could feel Benvolio's ripple with his effort, too. Rosaline bracketed her knees up higher around his hips, and with her free hand she circled his biceps, giving herself both an anchor and some leverage to cant her hips up in turn, meeting his every thrust. " _Rosaline_ ," Benvolio growled, his forehead falling to her shoulder. His mouth fell open against her skin, and his breathing turned hard and shallow.

The way he spoke her name with upmost, wrecked reverence made heat coil tight in her belly, her body going taut as she felt her walls start to clench around him. Benvolio seemed to find renewed vigor in the strangled moan that hissed past her lips and the fingers squeezing hers tightened, pushing their linked hands by her head on the pillow as he slanted his mouth over hers, muffling the sound. He pulled out again and drove back in faster, sinking in even deeper as he locked his elbow under her knee and hiked it around his hip. Rosaline cried out at the sensation and felt herself shatter around him, a wave of pleasure rippling deep inside of her at the rhythmic clench and release that sent her toppling over the edge.

He swallowed her panting, low gasps right out of her mouth and Rosaline half-whimpered, half-laughed against his lips. It was almost surreal, she believed, to feel this good, her body still riding the high, Benvolio letting go of her fingers to stroke her side, her cheek, to soothe her, to stoke the flame, she knew not. With a shaky hand she traced his body down and delighted in the fast thump of his heartbeat against her palm, the way his abdomen rippled and clenched as he too neared his own release. " _Benvolio_ ," she cajoled in his ear as she caught the lobe between her lips, nipping the soft skin gently. Benvolio's hips snapped against hers at that, and Rosaline let her lips linger down, biting at a spot just beneath his ear that pushed him over the edge, Benvolio groaning his release in her neck as she felt him pulse inside of her.

Rosaline squeezed her knees tighter, holding him close, and when Benvolio's shoulders sank she welcomed his comforting weight happily, wrapping her arms around him. She felt joy and satisfaction and fondness overwhelm her in the best way, Benvolio's heart still beating fast against her chest until the soft lull of her more steady heartbeat brought his under its spell and slowed it down. They laid there in silence for a while, Rosaline's hand carding through his short, slick hair, her lips seeking out his forehead, his temple, his shoulder, the tips of his fingers as he lifted a hand to stroke her cheek.

" _Ruined_ ," Benvolio chuckled as his breathing evened out, and he pulled himself up on his elbows, hovering over her though he was still pressed inside her. When he first tried to pull away Rosaline whimpered at the thought of the loss, but Benvolio kissed her frown away, his lips soft and gentle and soothing on her skin as he rolled to his side, bringing her with him. He laid on his back and Rosaline nestled her head on his shoulder, tasting the salt of his skin. Her body might be cooling down but she _still_ wanted him, couldn't imagine _not_ wanting him. She propped herself on her elbow, craned her neck to kiss his mouth, soft, shallow, her lips quite not touching his sometimes, her breath mingling with his. Benvolio's hand went to her face, cradling her jaw as they kept kissing, until he pulled away and let his head sink in his pillow with a heavy sigh. "You're ruining me, beloved," he laughed softly. "How am I expected to ever leave this bed now?" he asked innocently, or as innocently as Benvolio Montague could muster, which, _now_ that Rosaline had discovered the unholy things he could say or do, summed up to little.

This time Rosaline did roll her eyes. "Who said I'm ever _letting_ you out of this bed, my lord?" she answered pointedly, raising her brow at him. Benvolio's little intake of breath and the slow twitch of his lips upwards told her she'd surprised him, and he looked at her with awe in his eyes. She pressed a kiss at his chest, just above his heart, then wrinkled her nose. "Though you _are_ sweaty," she laughed, "perhaps I should let you have a bath."

"So are you," Benvolio teased her back, his hand lazily drawing circles on her slick skin. "I could go with spending the rest of my life between our bed and the bath, I suppose. Our uncles will need a little more convincing, though."

"You could tell them honoring your wife takes a lot of your time," Rosaline laughed around a yawn, and let exhaustion settle over her body as she cuddled at his side. "I'm sure your uncle can manage one day without yelling at you."

She felt the rumble of Benvolio's laugh as his chest rose and fell beneath her palm. "So I _did_ honor you well, then?" he asked, half-smug, but small and sweet too.

Rosaline yawned again, the sun bright and warm as it pierced through the curtains, well into the morning by now and yet for once Rosaline did not care as she furrowed her face into his side, ready to fall asleep again. "Ask me again later," she finally murmured.

Around her she felt Benvolio grab for their sheet and pull it up to tuck them in, his arm warm and solid as he wrapped it around her shoulder, holding her close to him, pressing one last, lingering kiss to the crown of her hair. She _could_ spend the rest of her life like this, she supposed, too.

 

* * *

 

At Livia's next visit her younger sister _immediately_ caught on the change in their relationship. She beamed at Benvolio all through lunch, and Rosaline watched as the delighted surprise on her husband's face turned to fondness for his sister-in-law as they engaged into an animated conversation about the gardens Rosaline let them have in peace, gazing at the both of them tenderly from the side.

"We're having cherry trees shipped from the south," Benvolio told Livia. "They're already quite grown and I hope they will bloom by summer after next."

"We are?" Rosaline asked, surprised that he would remember her mentioning she wanted to plant them in the courtyard.

Benvolio shifted his gaze from her sister to her, an adorable frown creasing his forehead. "Didn't I tell you?" he replied, the faintest pink flushing his skin. "I'm sorry, I thought I had. As soon as you said you wanted them I had the order placed, my lady."

He brought her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss there, an apology, but all Rosaline wanted was to kiss the sweetness from his own lips. She cared little about remembering him telling her or not for he'd listened to her and _remembered_ like he always did, no matter how small or insignificant these things could be. She squeezed his fingers back and let their hands rest on the table, still intertwined.

Livia stared at their linked hands but said nothing, focusing her attention on Benvolio again. "Father had cherry trees planted when we were children. Rosaline tended to them, watered them, and was very mad when they outgrew her."

"Livia!" Rosaline's eyes grew wide as her sister painted a ridiculous picture of her as a girl.

"'Tis true, sister!" Livia laughed.

"'Tis _adorable_ , sweet wife," Benvolio assured her, and Rosaline wanted to believe him but the mischievous gleam in his eye as he grinned at her sister also made her want to slap them both behind the head.

Letting go of his hand she worked on slicing her peach with her knife more aggressively than necessary. "I think I liked it better when the two of you didn't _plot_ together," she mumbled, sending a glare in both their directions. She felt Benvolio nuzzle at her jaw and tried to ignore him and the heat going to her cheeks at his effusive displays of affection. It was futile in the end as Rosaline tilted her head to him, allowing him to kiss at the corner of her mouth, and the smile he pressed to her skin grew into a full-grin when he stole half of her peach from her very hand, popping it all at once in his mouth. "You thief!" Rosaline chided him, jabbing at his chest with a finger.

Benvolio laughed around a mouthful of fruit and rose from his seat. "I need strength before going to my uncle's," he explained.

Rosaline's face fell a little. She'd forgotten he would be leaving instead of spending the rest of the day with them. "Will you be gone long?" she asked, hoping his uncle had not planned to keep him up all through the evening.

Benvolio shook his head. "I don't think so. My uncle only wishes to oversee the last details for the dinner." Lord Montague had suggested a family dinner with both clans at his mansion, ever the attention-seeker wishing to look like he was making all the efforts for this union to work and, as ever, giving himself the occasion to show off the opulent wealth he had. "I'll be sure to tell him how fondly you think of him keeping me for such trivial things, beloved," he laughed as he cupped her cheek and bent to kiss her on the forehead.

"Please do so," Rosaline replied just as sarcastically, her eyes closing briefly at his touch, too soon gone as Benvolio turned to Livia.

He took her sister's hand and kissed it gently. "I'll see you at the dinner, then?" he said, both a question and an apology for leaving so soon.

Livia frowned. "I don't - I think my aunt will need me at the house," she replied, half-embarrassed as she turned to Rosaline. "I don't think Uncle counted me in."

Neither did Rosaline, if she were honest. No matter how many invitations she sent, Livia still only was allowed a few visits, and though Benvolio had reiterated his wish for her sister to come live with them Lady Capulet was still firmly holding onto the lie that she could not bear losing another child. Benvolio didn't look ready to give up that fight, though, if the way his jaw tensed and clenched was any indication. "This is _nonsense_ ," he said, anger barely veiled. "You _are_ family, Livia," he insisted as he looked her in the eye. "I'll come pick you up myself."

"Benvolio," Rosaline tried to soothe him, a hand coming to lay on his arm.

He welcomed her touch, covered her hand with his own. "I will _not_ let our uncles treat us like this," he said, final, and Rosaline could feel this was about more than Livia getting a seat at the family table. It was about their uncles parading them across Verona during their masquerade of a betrothal, playing them like pawns, putting a price on their value and honor as heirs of their houses; forcing them to marry a stranger - although they'd found their happiness in one another neither one of them could ever quite forget that they'd been nothing but a bargaining chip for their families at first. It was about Livia still living as a servant in their father's brother's house, something that Rosaline knew did not sit well with her husband and that he'd many times brought up to both their uncles, pleading with them to let her live with them.

Rosaline feared Benvolio would only meet a wall if he brought the subject up to his uncle, yet she could see how important this was to him. Benvolio had been the rightful heir to House Montague by birth and had never said a word about it; seeing her or Livia mistreated always seemed to spur him into action more than the injustice he'd personally endured.

"I don't want -" Livia started, and paused immediately. "It really is no trouble, my lord."

Benvolio's eyes softened. " _Family_ is no trouble, Livia," he said simply. "You are my wife's blood, and now you're mine too. It'd be remiss of our uncles to forget it."

Livia's mouth opened and closed, and Benvolio gave her a bow of his head before he took his leave. Rosaline watched him go, concern and pride both swelling in her heart. It was nearly impossible for her to understand how his uncle could treat him like a stain upon the family name when Benvolio was the most honorable man she knew. Her sister seemed to believe as much, for as soon as Benvolio had left Livia said, "Are you sure he _is_ a Montague?"

Rosaline couldn't help but laugh. "He's all right," she shrugged as she finally took a piece of her peach. Livia cocked an eyebrow at her, and Rosaline relented. "He is the best of them all."

"You certainly do look _really_ happy with him," Livia gave her a smile, genuine and playful at the same time. "And he can't keep his hands off of you."

Rosaline's fingers froze around her knife. Willing herself to look her sister in the eye, she tried to summon all the authority her position as the eldest had ever given her. "Livia..." she warned.

"'Tis just an observation, Ros," Livia grinned, and plucked a piece of her peach from her plate.

Rosaline sighed, swatting her hand away, but too late. "Are you two done with stealing my food?" she complained half-heartedly.

"Are you done dancing around the subject of your marital happiness?" Livia answered in turn, bold and mischievous like only spending time around one Benvolio Montague could make her. "I've never seen you this happy, not even with -"

"Not even with Escalus," Rosaline finished for her. "That's all right," she added quickly as Livia looked bad for mentioning him, "and that's _true_." Rosaline did not need to compare the two men - what she'd thought she had with the Prince was nothing like what she had with Benvolio now. Escalus had chosen duty over love, a choice Rosaline had always thought she'd understand and make herself; Benvolio, though, had chosen _her_ over anything _else_ , duty, love, his own happiness. He put her first every time he could, and every time he couldn't. He could tease her and jest her and _still_ listen to her, joys and worries alike; he'd been kind and patient and true to her, shielding her from the worst of both their uncles since they'd been wed. And now that she'd admitted her feelings to him, and his to her, Rosaline truly felt like an equal. With Benvolio she never had to second-guess herself, never had to back down from a challenge for fear of taking too much room, of being too loud, too much. Benvolio loved her fire, did not see it as unbecoming of a lady or threatening to him. In turn she loved how sweet and kind he genuinely was, and the fierce protectiveness of him. He would fight for her as she would for him, and it was that fierceness among other things that had made her fall in love with him.

"Happiness suits you," Livia said softly. "He's good for you. He balances you." She paused. "You balance him, too. You're more carefree around him, and he's softer around you."

Once again Rosaline felt amazed at her sister's insight. Livia was not entirely right, though. Benvolio _was_ soft, with or without her; he was good and all these things she'd come to learn about him, once she'd opened up her heart to the possibilities. And perhaps they did make each other better, but Rosaline knew now that Benvolio Montague was truly the best of them all, and she thanked God for him. "He makes me _so_ happy, Liv," she confessed, feeling herself blush at the things she knew she would end up telling her sister.

Livia's mouth formed a comical _oh_ as Rosaline went on telling her about exactly just how happy Benvolio made her, and Rosaline realized how carefree she truly felt now, enough to chatter and giggle with her sister without worrying about the rest of the world. Verona was a big city enough, but as long as Benvolio and her sister were fine, Rosaline could not bring herself to care much beyond the walls of their home.

Chatter about Benvolio turned to other things, the gossips among the servants at House Capulet, the games they used to play in their father's gardens when they were but girls, how Livia and Juliet would team up against Rosaline to get the upper hand on her, the shock on Livia's face when Rosaline admitted she always _let_ them win. It felt good talking like this with her sister, good to remember Juliet together, to cherish the memories of her as much as they'd loved their cousin, good to remember the nice things - Rosaline promised herself she would do this more often, with Benvolio, too. They rarely spoke of their cousins, and perhaps they did not need to mourn together but simply remember to _live_ , for themselves but for them, too. Romeo and Juliet would be happy for them, Rosaline was certain.

She did not feel the least guilty as she thought, _to hell with anyone else_.

 

* * *

 

Dinner at Lord Montague's house was nothing like Rosaline had feared.

True to his word Benvolio had made it so that not only Livia was invited, but treated as a lady. Her aunt and uncle certainly looked irritated about it but showed no disrespect, and Lord Montague followed their example. Both their uncles were at each other's throats as usual, insults veiled behind tight-lipped smiles, but Benvolio smiled and winked at her across the table and Rosaline felt like she could endure a few hours of this - it was almost amusing, even, what with Benvolio's antics and her sister at her side.

 _Until_ Lord Montague started focusing his sharp reprimands on her husband, and then Rosaline saw _red_.

"'Tis a pleasure to have such beautiful young women at my table," Lord Montague started, giving both her and Livia a slow, almost seductive smile. "Surely now I understand better why my nephew is always so distracted, what with the thoughts of his beautiful bride in mind."

Rosaline felt her shoulders tense, and forced herself to relax as she reciprocated his smile. "You flatter me too much, my lord," she said, coy like she knew her uncle would want, but still meeting Lord Montague's gaze, almost willing him to taunt her until she showed her teeth.

"Oh, I don't think I do, sweet Rosaline," he chuckled, then smiled at her uncle, sweet and sugary and lethal at the same time. "You will excuse my forwardness, Capulet, but I am certain we both agree that Capulet ladies are Verona's finest gems."

Her uncle tilted his head gracefully, and Rosaline had to bite the inside of her cheek not to retort.

"Perhaps ladies would appreciate being complimented on something else than their looks?" Benvolio suggested, and though Rosaline agreed with him and felt grateful for his intervention, she could already feel his uncle's gaze hardening into a glare.

He laughed then, low and cruel. "I too often forget how much of an admirer of women you are, nephew," Lord Montague said quietly. "Perhaps our fair Rosaline here would be better suited to learn about the affairs you find little interest in, though I'll give it to you that merchant tales and money do not compare to your lady wife's beautiful _brains_."

The older Montague smiled at her, aiming for fatherly and regal, but Rosaline felt dirty at the way his gaze landed on the front of her dress. For all his polite compliments Rosaline had no doubt the head of House Montague only saw her as a nuisance, a woman to be silenced and tamed, a pretty little thing who ought to give his clan a houseful of heirs and learn her place. As much as she hated that role, Rosaline knew that fighting back would only give him more reasons to belittle Benvolio. She gave him a tight smile before she met Benvolio's gaze, and tried to plead him to let it go.

Her husband, though, did not. "This is a great idea, uncle," he said just as calmly. "When I'm head of the house I _will_ make sure my wife's opinion is heard, as we all know that Rosaline is as fair as she is clever."

At the other end of the table her uncle gave a quiet chuckle. "The words of a young man in love," he gave an indulgent smile.

Benvolio gave him a nod of his head. "Surely you will agree that our ladies are the _best_ part of us, Lord Capulet?" he asked, bowing his head even lower to her aunt. Lady Capulet only gave him a tight-lipped smile in turn, not fully reproachful but obviously not wishing to take any part in the conversation, in his defense or against him. "What would House Capulet and House Montague be without women?"

"What would they be indeed," his uncle echoed, and Rosaline _hated_ his tone. He turned to her again, and she braced herself for his next jab. "You are _by far_ a valued member of my house, Lady Montague, and I hope the state of your health only gives us more reason to celebrate in the future."

"I am well," Rosaline replied, and frowned despite herself. Meeting her husband's gaze she realized she had not answered correctly though she could not see _why_ , not at first. Not until she saw the way Benvolio's fingers had clenched around his fork, or the twitch of Lord Montague's lips. Her aunt above all glowed, haughty and satisfied.

 _Oh_ , Rosaline thought as realization dawned on her, too late. She looked up at Benvolio again, and realized how childish her attempt must look from the outside.

Lord Montague looked rather amused. "You are such a delight, lady Rosaline. You must forgive me for I have only raised boys and did not measure just how very different the education of a young lady must be," he said sweetly. " _Though_ I would have hoped by now that your husband taught you enough about the great work that both our houses expect you to give yourself entirely to."

At her side Rosaline could just _feel_ how mortified Livia was and Rosaline felt the same, but anger at Lord Montague's innuendos and criticisms of her husband and the way he _handled_ his wife was growing bigger, more overwhelming than her embarrassment. She dreamed about planting her fork in his hand, about making him apologize or beg.

When Benvolio opened his mouth she almost cried out for him to remain silent. "The state of Rosaline's health is entirely her own to be concerned with," he said almost flatly, but Rosaline could see, could feel the underlying fury in his voice, in the way he had not unclenched his fingers but exposed his knuckles now turned white from the strain as he laid his balled-up fist on the table. "Perhaps in your haste to celebrate a christening you are forgetting that, uncle."

"Such a joy _is_ a _family_ matter, Benvolio," his uncle replied too quickly, not bothering to hide the command in his voice, nor the position he put himself into as head of not only his house, but as patriarch of both clans as he was giving his name to the future heir.

"And such joys come to those who wait, uncle," Benvolio didn't flinch and argued at once. "How many moons passed before you were blessed with both Romeo and Juliet's births?" he asked around the table. "I remember feeling so happy to _finally_ have a cousin," he added coldly.

The glare his uncle gave him was utterly _murderous_ , and for one moment Rosaline wondered how Benvolio could stand it. Then she remembered the time she'd confronted her own aunt about her mistreatment, and how ready she had been to fight her on every front for _Livia_ , even if her sister had never complained nor resented Lady Capulet for not welcoming her with open arms. For Livia Rosaline would have done anything, same as Benvolio was doing now, for the both of them, but _for her_ , first and foremost.

Lord Montague's face hardened, and Rosaline feared he might just start yelling. Instead he waved a disinterested hand in Benvolio's direction and ignored him, starting another conversation entirely with her uncle.

The rest of the evening went the same, and as evening drew into the night and Rosaline started covering her yawns with the back of her hand Benvolio stood, announcing that they were retiring. The looks in both their uncles' eyes showed that they disapproved greatly, and even Rosaline could see how rude it looked for them to leave like this, but she cared little about what they thought. She hugged her sister tightly and Benvolio only gave a handshake to her uncle and a stern, curt bow of his head to her aunt before he offered her his hand and they were back in their carriage. Behind them Rosaline could feel his uncle fuming at his defiance, but Benvolio didn't spare him a look and neither did she.

As soon as they were seated in their carriage Rosaline wanted to say something, but she found that the cold fury Benvolio still bore left her feeling uneasy and unable to find the proper words, if there were any. He looked resolutely outside, his jaw still tensed, a vein obvious against the pale skin of his neck. Tentatively Rosaline reached for his hand and exhaled a sigh of relief as his fingers twined with hers gratefully. He was still not looking at her but Rosaline could understand his need for space; she laid her head on his shoulder and Benvolio put their linked hands on his lap, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles on the inside of her palm. How he still looked out for her when he was the one radiating with anger she did not know, but Rosaline felt exhausted, drained from the night, and the lull of the carriage wheels against the pebbled road lulled her into a drowsy state, her eyes closing despite herself.

She only opened them again as the carriage stopped at their house and Benvolio already had an arm wrapped around her as if he were about to carry her to bed as she slept on. She followed him into the night and to the front doors in silence, grateful to be home at last. But when she turned to open their bedroom door and saw Benvolio keep on walking to the study, Rosaline finally found out her voice to call out to him. "What are you doing?" she asked, bewildered. It was late and all she wanted was to collapse in bed and forget about the entire evening.

Benvolio stopped in his tracks and turned around. "I will not sleep and you deserve your rest," he explained, but Rosaline could see in his eyes that he did not fully expect her to believe it, or back down from challenging him even if he looked too exhausted to argue with her.

Rosaline didn't wish to argue, nor to aggravate him. Tonight she'd caught only a glimpse of what Benvolio had to endure with his uncle, and one night had drained her when he spent almost every day with the man, had spent _years_ living under his roof and his rules. He deserved a moment to himself if that was what he needed, Rosaline tried to reason herself.

But she also knew her husband's propensity for blaming himself for things he was not responsible for, and Benvolio was _not_ responsible for his uncle's horrendous attitude, nor his unfairness. "I should not have let him say those things to you," he said, like Rosaline had expected him to.

"You _didn't_ , though," she said softly, and took a step to him, gently grabbing at his arm as she pulled him back to her, back to their bedroom threshold. "You stood up for me."

"I made it worse," he insisted, and Rosaline wondered if that did him any good, blaming himself so much. If that was what he needed, to put the blame where he could actually fight it, do something about it. "I never wanted you to see that. To see _me_ like that," he breathed out, so heavily Rosaline felt his breath fan over her face.

He had _defended_ her; and sure, she'd been stunned by his anger, his defiance, but only because she felt for him so much, hated to see him treated like this. Her husband was a good, gentle man, and hatred was not in his nature any more than the cold, calculated ways his uncle tried to impress upon him. Rosaline did not feel like any of her reasonable arguments would resonate with him tonight, though; sound logic did no good to kind-hearted, good men who felt they'd done wrong.

She used the hand she had on his arm as leverage to push herself to her full height and kiss him slowly. Benvolio huffed a surprised sigh against her mouth, but did not resist as she pulled him inside their bedroom, nor when she gently steered him to their bed. He let himself be pushed into a sitting position as the back of his knees hit the bed, and his eyes only grew wide in admiration as her deft fingers found the laces of her dress, making quick work of untying them, and the garment fell to the floor leaving her standing in only her thin shift.

With their curtains opened the moon casted its winged shadow into the room, illuminating his pale skin with its glow. Rosaline saw the way his throat bobbed at the sight of her, how his breath hitched as if it were the first time he saw her like this; he drank her in as she got closer, his eyes roaming over her body despite the troubled daze still clouding them.

"Rosaline," he spoke her name softly, reverently, as she put a knee on the mattress and her hands on his shoulders and straddled him. His own came automatically to her waist, steadying her. "You don't -" he started, and Rosaline knew already what he was going to say: _you don't have to do this, I'm fine, don't worry_.

Except she knew she didn't _have_ to, and wasn't feeling forced, or obligated - she _wanted_ to be there for him, to soothe him, to please him, to show what she couldn't say. And he was _not_ fine, and Rosaline believed they had gotten better at being vulnerable around each other, at accepting that no matter how happy they could be together, upon truly finding each other, sometimes things weren't so easy; that their circumstances had not much changed. Both their uncles still dictated so much about their lives, and old wounds never fully got to heal with their perpetual reprimands.

And of course she worried about him, she _loved_ him.

"I love you," she interrupted him, voicing her musings as she lifted a hand to tilt his chin up. With the way she towered over him he had to tilt his head back to look up at her; Benvolio's eyes were impossibly blue in the moonlight, so wide and so open, so _vulnerable_ too, and he seemed to struggle with maintaining the contact. Rosaline felt how his fingers tightened lightly at her waist, both a gesture to seek an anchor as much as it felt like he was making sure this was _real_ , her body so close to his, her warmth, her declaration. He always looked a little taken aback whenever she expressed her feelings for him, even though Rosaline had no doubt by now that they were both comfortable in their knowledge of one another's love. "I love that you wanted to protect me, and I love that this is who you _are_ ," she added just as softly, wishing to impress the words, their truth, upon him. "Willing to protect me, as I would you."

This time when she kissed him he felt more eager against her lips, more _present_ , and when she tried to tug at his shirt and almost lost her balance doing so he laughed softly and with a firm hand against the small of her back and another seeking purchase of their sheet he managed to maneuver them both towards the middle of the mattress. Rosaline kneeled at his side, her hands joining his as he pulled his shirt off over his head and dropped it unceremoniously to the floor alongside her own dress. He took her by surprise then as he wrapped his arms around her middle and buried his face in her chest, forehead pressed between her breasts as he breathed her in, his little sighs tickling her through the fabric of her shift. She felt a touched smile tug at her lips at his sudden show of affection; the angle was awkward but she circled her arms around him in turn, tilting her face to rest on the top of his head.

She felt his mouth open and close against her chest as if he wanted to say something, perhaps in answer to her encouragements and soothing words, perhaps another apology Rosaline did not feel he owed her or anyone for that matter. _She_ had felt just as angry as he had, perhaps even more angry at _herself_ for not saying anything, for sitting there as it was expected of her and doing nothing. Rosaline could feel the pent-up frustration burning an ache in her, energy bottling up inside of her that she had dismissed and put aside for so long - every time her aunt had said something about her ingratitude, her worthlessness, blaming her for the crime of being the daughter of a woman she loathed, and a man she'd loved and lost because of her own pride and arrogance. Rosaline knew better than anyone what it felt like to sit and say nothing and to feel it carve your heart out - and so did Benvolio.

In the end Benvolio seemed to give up on talking and only pressed a kiss to her sternum, her jaw, and her lips at last, and that was a language Rosaline felt to be their own, a tongue they could converse and commune in so easily now when words that had been said too much were not enough, when words failed them, when there were no words to express this jumble of feelings. He kissed her slowly, his tongue pushing past the seam of her lips and Rosaline granted him permission with pleasure, feeling herself soften and melt around him as he leaned her back into the bed, his weight pressing her into the mattress as she was spread out beneath him. Her head almost hung by the bed end but she did not care, not when she could feel Benvolio's heat sink into her own body, not when his desire for her was putting his insecurities and sour mood to rest as well as her own.

His mouth found a cloth-covered nipple and sucked at it through her shift, and Rosaline felt her head loll even further, baring her neck to him. One of Benvolio's hands shot up and wrapped around her throat, gentle and feather-light, his fingers just a mere presence at the side of her neck as his thumb stroked at her quickening pulse. Rosaline felt heat coil tight in her belly at the unusual, yet arousing gesture; her heart collided against her ribcage, just on a side of painful that felt infinitely good at the same time. She groaned, something low in her throat that she did not recognize as her own, and felt her thighs clench around one of Benvolio's legs.

Benvolio looked up at her in surprise, his features caught between something impossibly soft and arousal, his eyes a darker shade of blue than they'd been before, a study in contrast as he let go to focus on the present. There was an intensity in them, humming off of him, that reminded Rosaline of the afternoon she'd caught him sparring after a long, tiring day with his uncle. He'd been angry then as he'd been this evening, and it'd been the first time she'd seen him so unhinged; it had left her as speechless as it'd made her feel hot in the cheeks and weak in the knees, and Rosaline couldn't ignore that she decidedly felt the same _now_. Benvolio was always so soft with her, so tender, and she loved that about him, loved him for being so sweet - but she liked this side of him _too_ , how he'd gone from looking up at her with amazed eyes to pinning her under his body, mouth and hands on her in a matter of seconds, soft and strong and in control, _wanting_ , and going for it.

 _That_ was what she wanted, too - what she _needed_. His anger may have faded but hers hadn't found an outlet yet; and perhaps this was what would feel good, to stop thinking for a while, always looking for the right thing to say, the proper words, what they'd both been raised and shaped to always do.

And so it felt good when his teeth joined his fingers at her neck and bit down, perhaps with less care than usual but still the sensation sent a shiver roll down Rosaline's body, heat pulsing between her legs, evidence coating Benvolio's fingers as he stroked there with intent. And Benvolio didn't seem to mind when she pushed him back and rolled them over, pining both his hands to the mattress. On the contrary his eyes grew wide with that intensity again, something dark and feral and primal that took Rosaline's breath away for a second as it seeped through her, too, raced through her veins and ignited her entire body. It felt good to kiss him hard and feel him strain for her, his lips chasing her own as she drew away, the veins in his arms showing as she still held them down, not enough to hurt and certainly not enough so that Benvolio couldn't free himself if he didn't want to, but just enough to let him know she was in charge now, for him to let her know he was fine with it. More than _fine_ , Rosaline gathered, as she felt him hard against her core through his leather breeches.

She rolled her hips against him slowly, taunting him, and the growl that escaped Benvolio's throat both sent another wave of heat through her body and felt like a warning that she should not tempt him _too_ _much_. "I thought you liked it when your lady told you what to do," Rosaline still teased him, feeling invigorated, full of energy and _life_.

"Not _exactly_ what I said," Benvolio groaned, amused and amazed at her as he rocked his hips into her, a satisfied grin stretching his lips when it drew an involuntary moan from Rosaline. He made the most of her momentary inattention to free his wrists from her weakening hold and grabbed at her waist, flipping them over once more. Rosaline squeaked, and Benvolio frowned at her. "You let me win this one, huh?" he grumbled, nipping at her bottom lip and drawing it between his teeth.

Rosaline could barely conceal her smugness. "Perhaps I did," she said, low, as her hands reached out for his breeches, making quick work of getting rid of them as she pushed them past his hips. "The rules of fair play do not apply in love and war."

Benvolio groaned as he returned to pushing her shift up her stomach, not even bothering with completely taking it off before he parted her knees with his hands. "I shouldn't buy you this many books," he half-heartedly complained as he drew her hips up and pushed in.

Rosaline was more than ready for him but still she felt a thrill at his suddenness, at how easily rolling around in bed and taunting one another had made her hot and bothered without Benvolio even taking so much as a moment to get her there first. He hovered above her with both arms propping him around her head and his fingers caught in her locks by accident, and the sharp sting sent all of her blood pulsing between her legs.

With Benvolio's arms holding his weight it was up to her to meet his thrusts, to move and shift until the angle and the rhythm were perfect. She planted her feet firmly into the mattress, her fingers digging into the pliant flesh of his hips, his backside, as he kept thrusting into her. Rosaline's heartbeat was deafening, drumming in her temples at the sound of skin slapping against skin, the growing tension coiling deep in her belly, hard and fast, _faster_ than it'd ever happened. She felt herself clench around him and Rosaline couldn't decide if she wanted this _now_ or wait a little more to draw it out, make him whimper and beg for it. She let one of her legs fall open on the bed, slowing the roll of her hips and letting him drive in deeper, surrendering to the sensation as it grew and spread all over her.

"You _like_ this," Benvolio growled against her mouth as he dipped his head to kiss her roughly, his voice wrecked and filled with amazement as realization dawned on him that they were both into this.

Rosaline would have rolled her eyes at him if he hadn't sped up then, holding her open leg in the crook of his elbow and folding her knee into her. It spread her wider to him and Rosaline felt her breasts bounce with his effort, and the sight seemed to make him unravel. She felt him let go inside of her, the muscles in his back clenching under her grip as he found his release, and though she had not reached that delirious peak herself Rosaline felt sated and content as she let her head sink back into the mattress, her arching back easing out of its bow, and her eyes closing as she struggled to get her breathing under control.

Benvolio pulled out and Rosaline wanted to reach for him, keep him there, but then he was tugging at her hips and when she opened her eyes again she found him lying on his stomach between her legs, his mouth poised at her core. Rosaline trembled at the sight, and trembled some more as he lapped at her urgently, two fingers slipping in and curling to reach that spot within that made her see stars. Within moments she was panting, one hand holding his head there as the other came up to her chest, and it was a thrill, touching herself like this while Benvolio nibbled at her inner thigh, his fingers pumping faster inside her. "Come on," he urged her, with the slightest show of teeth to her skin.

He looked up at her with dazed eyes and moaned as if _he_ were the one being pleasured like this at the sight of her, and perhaps it felt like this to him, Rosaline thought, for she loved making him feel good too, and it'd _been_ the prime directive of her actions tonight. She'd wanted him to relax, to feel better, and they'd both found a new way to do so, exploring each other's bodies and souls with less gentle care than usual, but just as much passion. He crooked his fingers and returned to focus on her bundle of nerves, his tongue tracing tight little circles that sent her toppling over the edge in seconds, her thighs clenching hard around his ears.

When she unclenched them Benvolio remained there, laying his head on her thigh, looking as spent and exhausted as she did, but just as satisfied. Rosaline peeked around at the mess they'd made as they laid tangled across the bed, the sheets turned inside out, clothes haphazardly thrown to the floor, and her skin tingled, hot sparks shouting through her body. She twined her fingers in Benvolio's hair, and tugged a little to pull him up to her.

"You don't have to be so rough," he teased her as he met her lips and sucked her bottom lip in his mouth, one large, calloused hand spreading across her body to turn her on her side to press against him before it grabbed at the sheet beneath her and tried to drape it unceremoniously over the two of them.

It was a mess, and Rosaline knew they'd have to move at some point before they settled in for the night, but their evening had been a mess of another chaotic proportion so _this_ was nice, feeling Benvolio's heart galloping as he laid on his side too, her chest pressed into his torso, his hand tugging at her shift down before resting on the small of her back. He looked like a mess too, with his slick skin and mussed hair and dazed eyes, same as her, and Rosaline grinned to herself as she allowed herself to enjoy the moment. Her muscles blissfully ached, and she felt grateful for the distraction; if anything Benvolio seemed to feel the same way, for one moment he was blinking sleepily at her, and the next he was already sound asleep in her arms.

She kissed his forehead gently before surrendering to sleep herself.

 

* * *

 

The last days of heat rolled, and autumn leaves started scattering the garden grounds by the time the cherry trees were planted. Benvolio was still optimistic about their blooming even when the degrees dropped and winter fully settled in.

Rosaline, who had began bleeding for the third moon, started wondering what was wrong with her if a small tree could still blossom in the harshest of cold and _she_ couldn't.

The first month, she'd felt confused but had reminded herself that heirs could take some time to come. She'd felt the tiniest pang of disappointment but she'd made quick work of pushing it aside, confident in the knowledge that she was doing everything she _possibly_ could. The thought had brought a blush to her face as others came to mind; Benvolio lying her down among the rosebushes, the feel of him on her tongue for the first time, how strong and powerful she'd felt moving _above_ him and not beneath. By the second month she'd still managed to keep her worries to herself, and comforting words from her nurse had been enough to remind her that both their families had gone without heirs for _years_ and that she shouldn't concern herself with such things for now.

Now, though, Rosaline wondered; her disappointment had turned to distress and she had trouble hiding it in the midst of the Christmas preparations. The spotlight was once again on she and Benvolio as both their families had agreed to have a great feast at their house to solidify the union between clans and, Rosaline was certain, to further test their marriage. If rest had finally dawned upon Verona, a fragile peace that nonetheless seemed to last, Lord Montague and Lord Capulet were still out for blood and looked to use them both in their quarrel as they pleased. The news of another fruitless month with no sign of an heir promised to be the biggest subject of conversation at the dinner table.

Feigning exhaustion - even as Rosaline did feel ill and tired she still felt it a lie to exaggerate her condition - Rosaline retired to the study to read. She'd managed to fend off Benvolio's questions and concerned gaze at breakfast and she had to force a smile on her face this time again as his brow furrowed and he held onto her wrist a moment longer, searching her eyes. "This is just a lot," she reassured him, gesturing vaguely to the house where the servants were busy and running at every corner.

Benvolio didn't look convinced, but still let her go after dropping a kiss to her hand. He was just as out of his depth as she were about this and Rosaline felt guilty leaving him to organize everything on his own, but she needed a moment alone.

The study was her favorite room in the house. More than the books or the quiet retreat it offered from her daily obligations, what Rosaline liked best about it was sitting by the window with a book on her lap while Benvolio sat at his desk drawing. If she had any talent herself she would have loved to commit the sight to ink and paper; the way he worried his lip between his teeth as he tried to figure out what was wrong with his sketching (Rosaline thought they were all amazing), how he'd brush hair out of his face and leave charcoal streaks, the quick, precise movements of his fingers as he brushed them against the paper to blur or color. Entering the study now she couldn't help but take a look at his latest drawings, letting her fingers brush against pencil and oil and paint alike.

There was a study in bodies, Romeo's eyes, her mouth, Mercutio's hands and sword, and a series of portraits that Rosaline was particularly fond of. Surprisingly it wasn't her own portrait that she loved the most, but that of her cousin; she felt as if she were looking at Juliet in person, what with the incredible likeness of her that Benvolio had managed, not only in looks but in her softness, her smile. There was something in Juliet's heart-shaped face, the bow of her lips, the laughter in her eyes that Benvolio had conveyed and Rosaline couldn't help but admire his talent. He hadn't know Juliet very well, had not often seen her, and yet his drawing of her felt so real, so vivid, Rosaline had decided she'd hang it once he would be done with it. Benvolio was never truly satisfied, always taking days to think on his sketches, adding tiny details, before he considered them good enough, but she loved that one already. She couldn't help but think that her uncle and her aunt would love it too, if they could push past the thought that it was a Montague who had done it. There were half a dozen other sketches on the desk; trees, flowers, something that looked like the Capulet cathedral but with added details that Rosaline thought made it look more majestic than what her uncle had in mind. She felt pride swell in her heart at her husband's self-taught talent, at how he could make beauty out of anything, and beautiful things even more gorgeous. She took Juliet's portrait and kept it on the side table beside her armchair as she settled with her book. In the sun the soft smile on Juliet's face seemed to shine, and it helped Rosaline calm down, her negative thoughts slowly turning to a fading noise in her mind more so than a confusing storm.

She tried to focus on her book and for some time it worked; it was a story of romance and sacrifice that was too corny for Rosaline but it had the intended effect of helping her think _less_ and relax. Reading about someone else's dreams and sorrows made her feel for the characters, for their struggle, and think less of her own.

But inevitably as the afternoon stretched Rosaline's mind wandered back to what she'd prayed to escape, plaguing thoughts of disappointing Benvolio, of never giving him what he wanted, what he _deserved_. The betrayal of her own body felt like an outrage to them both, making Rosaline's heart ache with something akin to _loss_. How could she be grieving something she never had in the first place, she wondered, but she _was_ ; beyond duty she _wanted_ this with Benvolio, a family of their own, and her concerns about her health, her ability to give him an heir, had but veiled the real pain - that for three months now she had _hoped_ , albeit foolishly, that God would grant her wish and that he had not.

Rosaline had never really thought about having children before. It was a duty, she knew, but it was something that she found people wanted and craved when they were in love, and even when she'd loved the Prince she had _never_ found herself daydreaming of living in the palace with a herd of toddlers. With Escalus she'd had a selfish kind of love, based on the lingering want in her heart, the desire to be with him at all times; but she'd never imagined anything further, a _life_ together. With her husband she could, and she _did_ \- and though they had never talked about it, Rosaline believed he felt the same. He had the same natural instinct to give and protect and nurture as she did, and Rosaline wanted to give him a son, wanted it for the both of them. Tears pricked at her eyes from pain and shame both.

She was dapping at her eyes with a kerchief when someone knocked softly at the door of the study. "Come in," Rosaline called out, quickly hiding the cloth in the side of her armchair, hoping that her eyes did not look too puffy. She did not want to have to tell the maid not to say anything.

She was surprised to find Benvolio entering and gently closing the door behind him, a steaming cup in his hand. "I thought you'd enjoy a hot beverage," he said, soft, almost sheepish.

Rosaline's eyes grew wide as her heart grew fond. "You made that for me?" she asked, emotion lacing in her voice at his sweetness.

Benvolio gave her a shrug, like it was nothing - but it _was_ something, Rosaline thought. She loved all the little things that made _him_ , his thoughtfulness, the way he noticed things she did not wish him to, how he did not shy away from emotions. "I remember my mother saying that there was nothing a cup of hot herbal tea could not fix," he said matter-of-factly, but Rosaline knew how little he remembered his parents, and how much that single memory was to be treasured. He put the steaming cup on the side table and the corner of his mouth tilted up as he took in the portrait of her cousin she'd propped up against a vase. "Romeo used to say Juliet was the sun," he noted softly. "I tried to put that in her smile."

"She really was," Rosaline agreed. Her cousin and sister were made of the same, soft and pretty and luminous, goodness and kindness shining through.

Benvolio caressed her cheek then, his fingers light and gentle as he caught her attention. "She looked more like you than she did her mother," he said, tracing the bow of her mouth. Rosaline felt her eyes water again at the compliment, and Benvolio narrowed his own, a frown creasing between his brow. "What is it?" he asked, sounding worried as he dropped to his knees before her, and took her hand in both his own. "You look troubled today."

Rosaline shook her head. "'Tis nothing," she first tried to deny, but as hot tears started rolling down the corners of her eyes she was making it impossible for him to believe her.

"Rosaline," Benvolio spoke her name softly, running his thumb on the back of her palm. "What is it? Talk to me."

He looked so worried already, Rosaline didn't want to trouble him further. But if she could not talk to her husband about the life she wanted with him, then with whom? "I - I started bleeding," she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

Benvolio looked stunned for only half a second before he said, " _Oh_ ," and then asked, "Are you in pain? Is there anything I can do?"

She shook her head again. He didn't _understand_. "I'm not - I'm _not_ with child," she explained, and saying it out loud hurt even more. It made it real, _tangible_.

There was a wide range of emotions flickering on Benvolio's features, none of which Rosaline fully understood. He looked almost relieved for a moment, then serious again, then, and it was the _worst_ \- almost angry. Suddenly Rosaline felt trapped, Benvolio blocking her with his hands holding hers and his body in her way to the door. She tried to pull her hand away, and at her gesture Benvolio's eyes widened, concern and worry gleaming again. "Oh, Rosaline," he said her name again, softer even. " _I_ \- how are _you_ feeling?" he asked, wincing at his own words. "I'm sorry," he apologized immediately, "this is a stupid question. I just - did you think you were?" he changed the turn of his sentence again.

He sounded soft, sweet like he always were, but Rosaline couldn't shake off the feeling that she'd _seen_ the anger in his eyes. "If you're going to blame me then just do it," she tried to say in a firm, steady voice, but the weak thing that left her mouth was anything but.

" _Blame_ you?" Benvolio echoed, dumbfounded, still soft and sounding so confused Rosaline started doubting her own senses. "Why would I blame you? You didn't do anything wrong. God, Rosaline, I love you," he added as if that explained everything, and perhaps any other day it would, Rosaline thought, but in that moment...

In that moment reason and logic were not her allies, and the tears rolled again, and one moment Benvolio was kneeling and the next he was pulling her to him, holding her tight as her body bumped onto his on the floor. Rosaline felt her sobs overwhelm her, catching in her throat, and she started rambling half-coherently around them, telling him about her failures, her fears, and Benvolio held her through it all, one hand carding through her hair while the other rubbed at her back.

He didn't say _you should have told me_ , or _don't worry_ , or _it's all right_ , even though the more Rosaline let it all out the better she felt. He listened to her, didn't interrupt her, and Rosaline felt that helped, too, for she wasn't entirely ready to deal with his own feelings about the matter, not until she'd said it all. It wasn't until she stopped talking, taking a deep breath and realizing that her breathing was coming a bit easier now, that he took her face in his hands and looked her deep in the eye.

"You want a baby?" he asked, and Rosaline thought this was a stupid question, before he added, "You _really_ want one?" and then she heard the childish, sweet excitement in his voice.

"Aye," she nodded her head. "Don't you?" she asked him back, needing him to _say_ it.

"Of course I do, but only if you wanted that too," Benvolio said, earnest, as he stroked her face. "I'm not talking about an _heir_. That's what my uncle wants. I'm talking about a baby, _with you_."

Rosaline understood the difference, and the fact that he did, too, almost made her cry again. She had felt bad not giving him an heir, partly because of his uncle's sharp words still ringing in her ears. But it was a baby with him that she wanted too, not the next crop of Montague sons to please his uncle.

"You're not mad, then?" she dared to ask at last.

"Mad?" Benvolio echoed, looking confused again. "Mad that you are not pregnant?" he added, and she nodded, glad that he was not making her say it again. "No. Is it selfish if I say that I do not mind having you all to myself for a little while longer? We have an entire life ahead of us to think of children," he gave her a smile, small and sheepish and perfect, Rosaline leaned in and kissed him.

"I thought you'd be mad," she admitted after, as she leaned her forehead against his. "Or displeased, I don't know. That you would resent me for not... _I_ was mad at myself, I think," she started to understand. "I thought this would be - easier, perhaps? Faster?"

"I did not think of it that way," Benvolio admitted - _so_ he had thought about it too. "I wasn't worried, and I'm sorry that you had to be worried on your own." He stroked her hair back, his thumb wiping at her wet cheek. "Did you even stop and think for a minute that maybe _you_ could blame _me_?" he asked.

"Blame you?" Rosaline echoed his question from earlier, and she was about to tell him that this was a ridiculous idea when she realized that perhaps it had been just as ridiculous of her to let her fear make her believe that he would ever blame her. "Oh," she only said. "But I couldn't - why blame you?"

"Perhaps because it takes two people to make a baby?" Benvolio said, gently teasing her. It worked as Rosaline felt herself roll her eyes at him. "You can't let anyone make you feel like everything is your fault, Rosaline."

It tugged at her heartstrings, how heartfelt Benvolio was, how serious he could grow in a matter of seconds after making her smile with his jesting. And he was right - Rosaline had let her fears make her the culprit of something that could be her fault as much as it may not. There could be a dozen reasons why she wasn't pregnant yet, but not everything _had_ to be a disaster.

"You don't think there's something wrong about me, then?" she still asked, anguish not letting her out of its grip so easily.

Benvolio's eyes were clouded, soft and hard at the same time, if that was possible. Soft for her, hard at the persistent, overwhelming pain she was still in. "I _know_ I don't care," he stated, firm, unwavering, as he took her left hand and brought it to his lips, kissing just above her wedding ring. "You're my wife and I love you, and I don't care if we have twelve children or none. I didn't marry you for that."

"You married me because you had to," Rosaline chided him, and all of a sudden they were both laughing, because it was _true_ and it was probably the worst start for any relationship, a forced, arranged marriage, but here they were, laughing about it.

"You married me because I am more handsome than a _priest_ , admit it," Benvolio jested her after he found his breath again. When she said nothing and held his gaze, he pleaded, "Come on, beloved. Indulge me, admit it," he pouted.

"You are more handsome than Friar Lawrence, I will give you that," Rosaline said, and kissed him for good measure. Benvolio was handsome and ridiculous and it was exactly what she needed. "Twelve children?" she still teased him.

"I was trying to make a point!" Benvolio defended himself, and then shook his head at her smug grin. "We can have as many as you want, the house is certainly big enough," he chuckled.

"I don't know if I could handle twelve of _you_ ," Rosaline mused, tapping her chin with a finger that Benvolio nipped. "One would be nice enough, though."

"One is good," Benvolio agreed, then rose from the ground and grabbed her beneath the armpits, lifting her up like a child and sitting her back in her chair. "For now though, you have some questionable tea to drink, a book to read, and I a drawing to finish," he said lightly, plucking the piece of paper from the side table and going to sit at his desk.

Rosaline watched him work for a moment, focused frown and serious eyes as he blurred at the waves around Juliet's face, before she looked down at the cup she was holding to warm her hands and frowned. "Why questionable?" she wrinkled her nose, even though it smelled perfectly normal.

Benvolio chuckled, his eyes never leaving the piece of paper. "Because _I_ 've made it, and have you ever seen me make anything before?"

He couldn't have gone wrong with tea, Rosaline figured, and lifted the cup to her lips and drank. It tasted sweet just like him from all the sugar he'd clearly added just in case, and Rosaline curled her legs underneath her, leaning on the side of her chair so she could continue sipping her tea and watching him.

Someday, she thought, there would be a child with his eye for beauty running around the house, and Benvolio was right - it mattered not if that day came soon or in a year or two or five. She didn't mind having him all to herself for a little while longer, either.

 

* * *

 

They'd been wed for almost eight months when an invitation from the royal palace for the spring masquerade ball came, and Rosaline felt a ridiculous thrill as Alessandra read her the letter addressed to _Lord and Lady Montague_. "You're expected to twirl your wife around in a fortnight," she told Benvolio as she bounced on the bed and pressed an excited kiss at the exposed side of his neck, the rest of his face hidden beneath his pillow.

"Mmh," Benvolio groaned at her overly enthusiastic, high-pitched voice, and buried his face deeper into the mattress.

"Don't be such a baby, husband," she chided him and nipped at his earlobe for good measure. "'Tis almost noon, what are you still doing in bed?" He groaned again, and Rosaline rolled her eyes. She touched her fingers to his clammy skin and clucked her tongue. "I would not dare to presume but it seems to me that you are _sick_ , which does not make any sense since I sent you out with a cloak and gloves. Unless..." she let her sentence hang, knowing perfectly that he had foregone his warm clothing to spar with Arturo although she had warned him against the capricious weather. The last days of snow seemed to be behind them but despite the bright sun the days were still cold, and obviously Benvolio had not listened to her this time.

Benvolio didn't react to her taunting, and that was when Rosaline realized how sick he truly was. It was only a cold and his body needed a couple of days to sweat the fever out, but it left him miserable and weak, so much that when she sat with her back against the head of the bed and tried to tug him to her Benvolio felt like a heavy lump. He was still half-asleep, his forehead burning with the fever as she laid his head on her lap and combed her fingers through his slick hair. Benvolio moaned at her touch, burying his face in her skirts and before Rosaline could do anything about it he was sound asleep and snoring softly.

Rosaline called for Alessandra, asking her to bring tea and honey and sugarplums, one of Benvolio's guilty pleasures, and a wet cloth, and she remained seated like this for a solid hour, bringing the cloth to his forehead, his neck, trying to cool him down. In sleep Benvolio still sought out her touch, leaning into her hand, and though Rosaline still wanted to scold him when he woke up she couldn't bring herself to as he slowly blinked his lashes, his drowsy state making it hard for him to fully open his eyes at first.

His arm tightened around her knee, and his nose wrinkled as he sniffed the air. "Is that - sugarplums?" he asked, his voice still hoarse from sleep, with an edge of roughness as he started coughing. "Mmmh, sugarplums," he mumbled, unable to raise his head enough, even less sit up.

"Perhaps they are for me," Rosaline teased, popping one in her mouth. Benvolio's eyes grew wide and the effort seemed to hurt his head for he closed them again instantly. "Poor little lamb," Rosaline cooed, then indulged him as she brought one to his lips.

Benvolio nibbled at it, his teeth grazing the flat of her nail as he swallowed it in one mouthful, and his lips stretched into a smile. "Another?" he pleaded, opening one eye and, Rosaline feared, trying to wink at her.

He looked ridiculous and this time Rosaline did laugh, her fingers stroking gently at his cheek. "You need tea and a bath, and I need these sheets changed before you go sweating in them again," she told him sternly, before she softened at the sight of him leaning into her hand. "Did you even hear me earlier?"

Benvolio pressed a sleepy kiss against the inside of her palm. "Aye. A ball," he yawned. "I'm too old for that, beloved."

"Too _old_?" Rosaline scoffed. "You're not even twenty-four yet."

"And perhaps I'll never be," he drawled dramatically as he finally pushed himself enough to sit, his head laying heavily on her shoulder as he mirrored her position, his back to the head of the bed. "I can feel Death's cold hands on me," he shuddered.

"And whose fault is that, uh?" Rosaline pestered him. "Besides, there's nothing _cold_ about you right now," she sighed, and tilted her face to press a kiss to his forehead, an old trick of her mother's to check the temperature. "You better get well by the night of the ball. I'm _not_ representing House Montague with your uncle."

"I'll come back from the dead to prevent that," he assured her, and pressed a grateful kiss to her shoulder as she gave him his cup of tea. Sitting straighter he brought it to his lips and sipped slowly, the steam clearing his nose and helping him breathe better. "What's the occasion?"

"Spring," Rosaline replied, fussing about the blankets and pulling them up around him. "You know, this beautiful season where husbands don't listen to their wives and get sick just as the warm days are coming back."

Benvolio glared at her, which, in his state, looked rather pathetic. "Capulet harpy," he clucked his tongue.

"Montague baby," Rosaline grinned, before she corrected, "and it's Montague harpy, I'll have you know." She fed him another sugarplum as he pouted, and then got out of bed, earning herself another round of whining. "Don't be like that, sugarplum," Rosaline teased him. "Some of us have duties to attend while others stay in bed. Do not say a word," she cut in his protesting instantly with a hand, "I'm having Silvia and my nurse looking after you and making sure you do not leave this bed."

"You said I needed a bath," Benvolio argued childishly, and Rosaline sighed, wondering what she married into if Benvolio was going to be like this every time he had a cold. "Aren't you going to help me bathe?" he tried, seduction utterly failing in the face of his tired eyes and sore throat at another spur of coughing.

"Don't make me drown you," she said, final, as she dropped a last kiss on the crown of his hair. "What color do you want for your mask? I'm going to have them commissioned today."

At that Benvolio started whining again. Putting his cup down he sank back into the mattress, and his complaint came from beneath the blanket. "A masked ball, of all things," he grumbled, and whatever he meant to say next laid forgotten as he blinked his lashes slowly and fell back asleep.

It took the better part of four days, tea and honey and an inch of rum, for her husband to get better. He was as grumpy about the ball as Rosaline was relieved to find out that her marriage to Benvolio Montague was no longer the most interesting subject of conversation when the night of the party finally came. Their introduction barely raised a few heads in their direction, and until the moment when they were greeted by the prince and the princess Rosaline felt like they were mere guests among others, nothing like the miraculous couple who had healed the city's wounds and just as soon forgotten.

The greetings were solemn and stern on the prince and her husband's part, and Rosaline had to wonder how much was because of their male ego, and how much about the lingering doubts and what ifs that still plagued them both. Rosaline had no time for that, though, as she hugged Isabella tightly and disappeared into the ballroom with her old friend, leaving Benvolio and Escalus to deal with whatever they had to deal with. At this point she felt like whatever she would say, or do, did not matter much - it was up to them to find a way to live with the fact that she had loved Escalus and now loved Benvolio, that one boy had been her past and the other man her present and future.

"You look beautiful, as always," Isabella complimented her as they walked around the ballroom, elbows linked together. "Your husband certainly seems to think so, too," she noted, nodding her head in Benvolio's direction. He'd found company in old Montague family friends and was staring at them from across the room, and no mask could conceal the look in his eyes.

"This is _distress_ , not desire," Rosaline laughed. "He's not fond of such social outings."

Isabella gave her a bump of her hip against hers. "There is no etiquette for attending a party thrown by a man who once loved your wife," she sympathized with Benvolio, blunt and true as always. "Does it bother you? Speaking like this of my brother?" she still asked, softer.

"No," Rosaline answered honestly, and perhaps with anyone else her quick reply would have been mistaken for a lie, but not with Isabella. They had been close as sisters once, and Isabella knew her heart. "Benvolio makes me happy, even when he acts like a cranky old man."

Isabella laughed. "I'm glad," she said, "because I have happy news to share too and it'd be remiss of me to do so had you said he was a terrible husband."

Rosaline's smile twitched into a full-grin. "Happy news, is that so?" she teased her friend. "Does it have anything to do with your recent trips to Venice?"

Isabella's eyes widened. "How do you even know about that?" she bowed her head, a small smile playing at her lips. "Never mind how. There's someone I would like you to meet."

Rosaline let herself be steered into a more secluded alcove where Isabella's mysterious friend seemed to be waiting, wearing a gorgeous red gown of silk and tulle the exact matching color of the princess's mask. Same as Benvolio's the Venetian woman's eyes were clear and earnest, hiding nothing of the affection she held for Isabella, who, in turn, reciprocated with shy but genuine smiles.

Isabella introduced the woman, Helena, as an ambassador from Venice who was to stay a while, to help strengthen the amicable relations between the two cities. Rosaline gathered quickly that if the relations between Verona and Venice were anything like the ones between her friend and the ambassador, then she needn't worry about war. As the evening passed Rosaline listened enthusiastically and requested more of Helena's tales about a city filled with wonders and ways so unlike theirs, and a glance towards her husband, a smile of his or a nod of his head silently telling her to have fun and enjoy herself helped her do just that. Rosaline had missed Isabella's wits and fire, her sharp tongue and cunning ways, and she wished there could be more nights like this; perhaps more intimate gatherings, dinners, occasions to spend time with her friend instead of her royal princess.

When Escalus came by the three of them, his solitary journey across the ballroom amongst his guests bringing him to his sister and her companions, Rosaline couldn't help but seek Benvolio's gaze. She couldn't shrug off the worry that he would not appreciate seeing her so near the prince. But when her eyes landed on his frame she found him laughing with a man whose face looked familiar though she couldn't point out how she knew him, and when Benvolio saw her he simply gave her a smile.

Escalus was nothing but proper and formal at first, and Rosaline wondered what he saw in her now - a noblewoman among others, a deal well done, or could she still be a friend, someone he'd cared about same as she always had, still did? Rosaline felt relieved when she sensed the tension between slowly dissipate, leaving only the quiet kind of comfort that old friends could share. There could never be a proper friendship between them, not between the prince of Verona and a Montague bride running one of the newest, greatest household in the city now with the alliance between both their families - but there could be respect, and the admission of what they used to mean to one another. _Peace_ , even.

The music started to shift, turning to something joyous and festive, and Rosaline caught the flicker in Escalus' eye, the longing that only lasted but a second as if he were about to ask her for a dance - and the moment when he seemed to realize it himself and took Isabella's hand instead. It left her with Helena, rather a great company that Rosaline continued to enjoy as the two of them went to sit by the balcony and chatted for a while. Eventually Isabella returned and disappeared right back into the night with Helena, and Rosaline watched them go with a smile, happy to see her friend allow herself a little bit of happiness instead of living by the hard, unforgiving motto of the royal house: strength and sacrifice.

Rosaline leaned against the rails, closing her eyes as the night breeze brushed her face. She was starting to feel a little bit chilly but enjoyed the privacy of the balcony, a nice break from the overheated ballroom. Tonight had been fun, and as much as she loved spending time with Benvolio it was also nice to see and talk with other people, to be Rosaline before Lady Montague, somebody's wife. She'd been happy to see Benvolio find his own circle of people to talk to, since she could only imagine what it did to him, to laugh and drink and party without his friends.

Someone behind her draped a cloak over her shoulders, and then arms wrapped around her middle from behind. "What is it with spring and wives thinking they can just stand outside in the chilly night?" Benvolio teased her as he leaned his chin on her shoulder and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, the feathers on his mask tickling her. "I like seeing you like this," he murmured.

Rosaline tilted her face slightly, just enough to press her lips against his own, a quick, gentle peck before she went back to staring at the palace gardens, hugging his arms to her. "Like what?" she inquired.

"Happy," Benvolio replied, punctuating his statement with a kiss at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. "Having fun." Another kiss. "Unbound." He nibbled at the spot beneath her ear.

Rosaline squirmed in his embrace, the scruff of his beard tickling against her sensitive skin and sending a spark of heat throughout her entire body, which didn't feel like something proper lords and ladies should do while attending a ball at their sovereign's palace. Turning around in his arms Rosaline faced Benvolio, a terrible idea in retrospective as he grinned at her before he caged her between the rails and his body. He leaned down to kiss her properly this time, his breath smelling like wine and sugar and his lips just as sweet. Against her better judgment Rosaline felt her own hands go up to cradle his face, her fingers toying with his hair, stroking at his jaw, impeded in their exploration by the mask he still wore. She lifted it up his forehead, mussing his hair in the process; he looked softer like this, younger, cheeks pink from the chilly breeze and lips red from her kisses.

Anyone deciding to take some fresh air would see them, but Rosaline didn't care, not when he dipped to kiss her again and she felt Benvolio grin against her mouth before he pulled back just slightly and rubbed his nose against hers. He adjusted his cloak around her neck, smoothing his hands over her arms to warm her up. "I thought I remembered you telling me I was expected to twirl you around, but I did not wish to steal you away from the princess. You looked so happy to see her."

"I was," Rosaline agreed as she slipped her hands between his jacket and his shirt, seeking his warmth. "But I wouldn't have minded you stealing me away..." she bit at her lip, looking at him from beneath her lashes.

"Montague devil," Benvolio laughed. "And here I was telling all these gentlemen that you were an angel."

"You were?" Rosaline beamed. "I thought husbands liked complaining about their wives when they gathered."

Benvolio gave her a half-shrug, then took her hand in his as he placed the other at her back. "I like dancing with my beloved better. There is not much room for twirling here, but -"

"It's perfect," Rosaline finished for him, and pressed herself closer to him, tilting her face so she could lay her cheek against his chest. "Did _you_ have fun?" she asked him as Benvolio began swaying them both, something slow and unlike most dances Rosaline knew.

"A friend of my uncle's came to speak with me earlier." Benvolio paused, sucking in a breath. "He had been friends with my father, too. Said I was starting to look more and more like him now that I had grown some backbone."

The words were sharp, perhaps a bit tactless, but Rosaline could feel the pride in his voice at being compared to the father he did not remember much, but still idolized like any son would. Someday soon, Rosaline would give him a son of his own looking up at him with the same admiration, she swore to herself. "And who was that man you were talking to earlier? I can't remember where I've seen him before."

"You've seen him at the cathedral many a time, he's the new architect," Benvolio informed her. "We had an interesting conversation about his designs and projects."

"Did you tell him about your sketches?" Rosaline asked, looking him up in the eye.

"Aye," Benvolio nodded his head. "He seemed interested in some of my ideas."

Rosaline pushed up on her tiptoes, cradling his face between both her hands. "That is amazing, Benvolio!" she awed, feeling so proud of him for sharing the beautiful things that he made. "He'll love them," she assured him as she peppered kisses on his cheeks, his forehead, his mouth, "just like I do."

"You do?" Benvolio beamed, leaning into her touch and kissing at her fingertips. "They're just ideas, though."

Rosaline shook her head and sighed softly. "You make beautiful things out of simple ideas, my love," she told him, admiring, because it _was_ something that she loved and admired about her husband. He had an eye for beauty that she lacked, another way in which they complemented one another perfectly. "And I would like it if our children could be christened and married in a cathedral their father helped make beautiful."

The smile Benvolio gave her was just as beautiful, Rosaline thought. "I can't really argue with that, now can I?" he laughed. "For now though I should get you inside and warm, and then I can tell the prince I thank him for his invitation but need to go home to -"

"And now you ruined it," Rosaline laughed, flicking his nose with her fingers.

They retired soon after, though, and this time Rosaline noticed that the heaviness between her husband and their prince had lessened too, somehow.

It made her feel lighter, letting go of the wounded past to focus on everything the future had to offer to them all.

 

* * *

 

Her stomach heaved out again and Rosaline bent over the bucket, another wave of nausea and bile burning in her throat.

Kneeling behind her Benvolio held her hair back, pressing a soothing kiss to the nape of her neck. He was a steady and comforting presence, his solid chest pressing against her back and giving her an anchor when the last of the nausea seemed to finally fade and Rosaline let herself sink back into him on the bathroom floor.

Benvolio's arms wrapped around her as he maneuvered her around until she was cradled against his chest. He ran a cool cloth over her face and Rosaline felt so grateful for him in that moment; she let herself close her eyes and focus on the feel of his warm body against hers, on his warmth spreading through her, over her, the coolness of the water washing away the stale taste in her mouth and the sweat clinging to her skin.

"You told me you felt better," Benvolio said, reproachful, though he still stroked her hair out of her face with a tenderness that made something inside of Rosaline ache.

Rosaline couldn't exactly blame him. She could sense the worry in his tone, and forced herself to open her eyes again and look up at him. "I thought I did," she answered truthfully. "The worst of it was in the mornings, but I felt fine all day after."

Benvolio frowned, worried lines etching around his eyes. "Perhaps I should send for the physician." Rosaline started shaking her head but Benvolio's eyes narrowed. "You've been sick for a _week_ , Rosaline. Don't say that's nothing. There must be something that will help you feel better."

"Maybe some of your tea?" Rosaline asked softly as she tried to sit up straighter, folding her legs beneath her. Benvolio tilted his head to the side, obviously not convinced, and she leaned her forehead against his shoulder. The nausea was gone but the sensation, the way her head swirled, was still there. "I'm just worried, and my stomach can't handle it."

"Worried about what?" Benvolio asked gently, his hand cradling her neck, his thumb rubbing smooth circles into her skin.

"I don't know," Rosaline sighed. "Everything."

Both their uncles had been more and more demanding towards Benvolio lately; it wasn't only Lord Montague that wanted to shape him into the perfect heir now, but Lord Capulet too, and Benvolio had to attend dinners and affairs with the merchant council all the time. The two lords seemed to try and see if their investment in their union was _worth_ it; _Capulet blood, Montague name_ , did not mean much if there was no heir to solidify and strengthen that bond, and no young lord educated in the manners of the city and money to rule over an empire built by generations of Montague farmers and Capulet nobles alike. Benvolio was trying his hardest, and Rosaline had attended many dinners with him in support, only to find once more that she was expected to sit in silence and be pretty, and nothing else.

Benvolio definitely did not care for affairs and intrigues and would have much preferred to stay at home with her and draw and sculpt, Rosaline knew. They often discussed it, and Benvolio listened to her advice and opinion with great care, often sharing her point of view at the next dinner in her stead. It was an arrangement that worked for the both of them for now, yet Rosaline couldn't help but worry about the strain it put on her husband.

Benvolio helped her up to her feet slowly, guiding her to the counter and the jug of water so she could rinse her mouth. "I'm staying home today," he decided. "You shouldn't be alone."

Rosaline grabbed for a cloth, wiping her mouth, before she turned to him and shook her head. "You know the uncles," she warned, "they'll be insufferable if you cancel on them."

"Aren't they always?" Benvolio chuckled. He lifted a hand to her face, brushing stray curls out of her face. "Will you promise to ask for the physician if you don't feel better? Will you send word for me?"

He looked her in the eye, and though Rosaline felt he worried too much, she acquiesced. "I will," she promised.

"Good," Benvolio sighed, relieved. He kissed at her brow, then took her by the elbow as he steered her back to their bedroom. "Let's get you back to bed, then. You shall rest today."

"Not in bed," Rosaline whined. Her skin was slick with sweat, and she longed for a bath and a clean gown. "I promise I'll stay and rest in the gardens, no more exercise than some light reading."

Benvolio considered her for a moment, then nodded his head. "And you'll try and eat something, all right? And let me know?"

Rosaline promised and with a kiss to his cheek she sent him off for the day. She hadn't realized how exhausted she truly was until she almost fell asleep in her bath, and perhaps that was even worse than the nausea, this feeling of weakness she'd been dragging for the past week. The unbearable heat of July was to blame, Rosaline figured; the whole city felt lethargic, pulled under the weather's spell. Rosaline longed for the days when she and Livia and Juliet would just go and swim in the river, not caring about the ladies they would grow into someday and simply enjoying splashing water at each other and laugh all day. She thought of suggesting a picnic by the river to Benvolio, or even surprise him by fetching him directly at his uncle's house with a basket full of goods, before she realized that the mere thought of eating anything brought another wave of nausea to her throat.

During breakfast her nurse watched her carefully, and Rosaline wondered if Benvolio had asked her to. "You look drained, darling girl," the older woman said, taking her hand in hers. "Lord Montague said you had felt sick again this morning."

So he did tell her. Rosaline pushed the plate of tangerines before her, wrinkling her nose. "'Tis nothing, my stomach is just troubled. The mere scent of these is making me sick again, and you know how much I love tangerines. It will pass."

The nurse frowned, at her and at the plate. "How long has this been going on?" she asked. "The sickness, the disgust for scents and tastes?"

"A week," Rosaline replied, then bit at her lip. "Perhaps a little more, now that I think of it. A week for the sickness in the mornings, but - remember that pie with the berries that Livia brought with her at her last visit? It was so sharp and tangy, I couldn't even finish my slice."

The frown on her nurse's face started to soften. "Do you not see the meaning of this, sweet Rosaline?"

Rosaline did _not_.

The nurse patted her hand. "It is my fault for not speaking of this enough with you, sweet girl. The sickness, not standing the sight or scent or taste of things, the exhaustion - when did you last bleed?"

The question took Rosaline by surprise. She opened her mouth to answer, but closed it instantly as she realized she did not know - she'd tried not to think about it too much, but still kept track of her cycle, or so she thought. Now though, she could not remember, and slowly the pieces came together in Rosaline's mind. "You mean to say - do you really think?" she started to ask, feeling overwhelmed at the mere idea of what her nurse was saying. It was elation and hope and fear at the same time, and it was too much, decidedly too much, but Rosaline _knew_ , could not ignore it now. "You think I'm pregnant?"

"It certainly sounds like you are, Rosaline," her nurse said with a soft smile. "We ought to ask for the physician to come, but -"

"I have to tell Benvolio first," Rosaline interrupted her, rising from her chair.

"Don't you wish to be certain before?" her nurse suggested. "The physician could come and be gone by the time Lord Montague gets back."

Rosaline shook her head. She felt giddy and excited and happy, and she knew Benvolio would want her to tell him, certain or not, even if she weren't pregnant this time. It's what they did; they shared everything, the good and the bad, as they had promised in their wedding vows almost a year before.

Almost a year to the day, Rosaline realized. She could not have thought of a better gift for their first wedding anniversary than this.

Her nurse watched her with a concerned, curious eye as Rosaline set to getting the maids and the carriage ready. She could not wait until Benvolio came home in the evening, not when he had to spend the day with both their uncles and this, _this_ \- he would be _so_ happy. Rosaline grinned to herself as Alessandra worked on her hair, and she had to keep her hands linked on her lap in order not to splay them across her stomach, to try and feel if there was something different about her body already, something calling to her.

Alessandra and Silvia were surprised to be asked to come with their mistress for a surprise visit at the merchant council, but bowed nonetheless and joined Rosaline in the carriage. Rosaline chatted with them to distract herself from the thought of Benvolio, of telling him. She could not think of a way, if there was a way to announce such things, but Rosaline felt like it did not matter much.

By the time they reached the merchant council Rosaline realized there was still a good half hour of meeting before her husband and their uncles would come out. She busied herself at the market place in the meantime, gushing at bows and cloth with her maids and staying far from the fruit stands, their rich scents making her dizzy. She had Silvia fetch some, and cold meat and wine, to prepare for the picnic she'd meant to have with Benvolio that she would no longer delay.

"I wish you to enjoy your afternoon," she told them, "and you can keep the carriage and get home when you want. I'll go home with Lord Montague."

"But, my lady," Alessandra started. "We could not -"

"You _can_ ," Rosaline interrupted her as she laid a hand on her arm. "The two of you are always there for me." She reached out for Silvia's arm too, gave it a squeeze. Rosaline wished they could be real friends, without the barriers of titles between them, but in that moment she felt the companionship between the three of them. Alessandra and Silvia were almost her age, and they had made her feel at ease in her new home and new role.

Both maids smiled in response, and the three of them set out to wait for Benvolio, Alessandra and Silvia not feeling comfortable leaving her on her own until then. Rosaline felt her impatience grow with every minute, and her heart made a jump inside her chest when she finally caught sight of Benvolio and their uncles.

He spotted her immediately and strode off to her, leaving both lords behind. "Rosaline?" his eyes widened in surprise as he clasped her hands in his. "Are you well? What are you doing here?"

"It is nice seeing you too," Rosaline laughed, squeezing his hands.

Benvolio pressed a quick peck to her lips, before their uncles could come closer. "It's always nice seeing you," he amended.

"Rosaline," her uncle called out behind Benvolio as he and Lord Montague came closer. "We did not expect to see you today."

"Uncle," Rosaline greeted, "Lord Montague". She nodded her head to her maids, to the basket Silvia carried. "I only wished to ask if I could borrow my husband for lunch."

Lord Montague patted Benvolio's shoulder. "Don't you have the sweetest wife, nephew," he laughed, "making her way all through the city to feed you."

He had the baby inside her to thank for Rosaline's restraint, for she wished to knock off the stupid smirk out of his face. "I know Benvolio is very busy learning from you, but..."

"Let the girl have her fun, Montague," her uncle stood up for her, for once. "We have a meeting at three, make sure you are back by then, young Montague," he added as he turned to her husband.

Benvolio nodded his head, not giving a second glance at his uncle. "Thank you, my lord." Then he took Rosaline's hand and the basket from Silvia, thanking the maids for accompanying his wife.

Rosaline led him down the streets, down to the river bank where she knew a spot that would afford them some privacy to talk. The day was hot and dry, and the cool air from the river would help. As they wandered the streets and narrow alleys Benvolio asked her again about her state, and when she assured him that she was fine he turned to commenting on the houses and palaces they walked by, pointing at the progress in the construction of the duomo that stood tall from afar.

Benvolio set the cloth and goods she'd brought on the grass, giving her his hand to help her sit. "This is amazing, Rosaline," he thanked her. "You're a miracle. The uncles were driving me crazy."

"Bad meeting?" she asked as she filled his glass with wine and handed it to him. Benvolio almost gulped it down in one sip, and she laughed. " _That_ bad?"

Benvolio leaned back on his hands, closing his eyes as the sun warmed his face. "Someone had to remind them they were family now, and not enemies, _twice_. If you'd seen them - they keep fighting like children about a piece of land, or a ship. And in the midst of them I was asked what I thought about the matter, as if that weren't the most dangerous question ever."

"To give your uncle or my uncle hell, that is the question," Rosaline grinned, and sighed. "That would be the dream. Luckily for you I brought you wine and sugarplums."

"And I love you all the more for it, darling wife," Benvolio grinned, and tugged at her hand, bringing her closer to him. Rosaline settled on her knees as he straightened, cuffing a hand behind her neck as he kissed her.

She let him, warmth spreading over her as his hands sought her out, pulling her to him, wrapping around her back. Rosaline stopped him then with a hand to his chest, giggling. "Lunch, remember?"

Benvolio made a face, then stole another kiss from her before he set to equipping them both with a serving of cold meat. Rosaline watched him eat, barely picking at her food. She lacked appetite, not because of the nausea for once, but because of the growing giddiness she felt.

"You hardly ate anything," Benvolio still noted as he pushed their plates aside. "Are you sure you are feeling well?"

"I am," Rosaline nodded her head. This was the moment, she knew. Toying with her fingers on her lap, she averted her gaze for a minute, focusing on the bark of the tree behind him, the yellow flowers growing by the river. "I have found some things to be - lately there are things I do not like anymore, like tangerines and berries and the brew you take in the mornings."

Benvolio looked at her, confused. "Do you not like the way the servants cook? Perhaps we can see about that with them."

"No, no," Rosaline shook her head. "It is...quite something else." Benvolio was looking at her with curious eyes, his attention solely focused on her, and Rosaline almost blurted it out. "I wish I could say this in such a manner that - perhaps I should have taken a page from your book and have someone write a sonnet about it," she laughed to herself to Benvolio's indignation. She reached for his hand, and Benvolio squeezed her fingers back, waiting. "I think I'm pregnant," she finally said.

Benvolio's eyes went round, his mouth opening a little in a silent gasp. Rosaline allowed him one, two, three heartbeats before she started worrying, but then his whole face lit up. "Really?" he asked softly, almost a whisper.

Rosaline bit at her lip again, but nodded her head. "Aye," she answered. "I need to see someone to be sure, but -"

But Benvolio had risen to his knees and gathered her in his arms, hugging her so tightly it left her almost breathless. "We're having a baby," he said between kisses as his lips found her cheeks, her nose, her mouth. "A baby!"

He sounded so happy, his voice high and filled with excitement and delight, Rosaline couldn't help indulging in her own giddiness. "You're going to squeeze the baby out of me if you keep holding me like this," she laughed as she petted his hair.

Benvolio released his hold on her, eyes wide. "Is that -"

"I was only jesting," Rosaline laughed, and let her hand fall from his hair to his jaw, cradling it. Benvolio looked at her like she had put all the stars and the sun in the sky, and she felt her eyes well up with tears, _happy_ tears.

Benvolio leaned in and pressed his lips to her cheek, kissing the tears away as they started rolling. "I love you so much," he murmured in her skin, his arms still wrapped around her even though he'd loosened his hold. "I told you you were a miracle," he laughed merrily against her temple. His hands shifted from her back to her middle, his fingers splaying across her stomach, as if he were trying to feel their baby, same as she had done earlier.

Rosaline laughed, swatting at his back. All exaggeration aside she loved him even more for his reaction at the news, his giddy joy, the warmth of his embrace. She cradled his face with both her hands and kissed him, the salt of her tears melting against the sweetness of the wine and fruit in his mouth. Rosaline kept laughing as they kissed, and yelped out as she felt Benvolio lower her down onto the grass.

"What are you doing?" she squealed, and yet pulled him to her by the collar of his shirt, bringing his mouth back to hers, his body to rest above hers.

It was pretty obvious what he was doing, what with the way he kissed her with intent and urgency, and Rosaline couldn't deny she felt the same, happiness and heat coiling deep in her belly. It was madness, she knew, even if the bank was isolated and she couldn't hear any sound around, but...

"You Montague brute," she grinned against his mouth as she felt his hands ruffle her skirts up, and his fingers on her thigh. "You'll be late to your meeting," she chided him, yet still she reached out for his breeches.

Benvolio laughed against her neck. "My uncle has been harassing me about putting a Montague in you for the better part of the last year. It's not like he could really complain."

"I'm _already_ pregnant," Rosaline rolled her eyes, then moaned as his fingers started stroking her.

"That, beloved, he knows not," Benvolio grinned, before he kissed her again.

 

* * *

 

If Benvolio had once said that he had not married her for her ability to give him an heir, her being pregnant certainly made him love her even more.

The first part of her pregnancy was tedious, more nausea and more things Rosaline could bear no longer - the scent of Benvolio's morning brew had become such a source of disgust to her that he'd stopped drinking it altogether. She was exhausted, could hardly focus on the plot of a book or a conversation, and wondered if every pregnant woman felt like her or if that was just a Montague thing. But at the end of the day, no matter how much she complained, how tired she felt, the look on Benvolio's face whenever he looked at her or spoke of her, the smile gracing his lips that never seemed to fade, made it all worth it. He couldn't keep his hands off of her, laying his hand across her stomach as they laid in bed, sometimes even sleeping with his head over her belly. He talked to the baby as if it could hear him, and Rosaline often felt caught between laughing at the sight and crying.

By the time she started showing, a small, then larger bump making its way beneath her dress, people commented on the glow around her, the way her smile could light up a whole room, how her hair glistened; but Rosaline thought that no one looked more happy, more relaxed and carefree, than her husband. There was a certain smugness in his grin, in the way he looked at her with this male pride that Rosaline couldn't help but roll her eyes at. "Get over yourself," she'd told him more than once, amused and fond at the same time. When the baby had started kicking Rosaline couldn't tell who had been more moved; she'd felt tears bubbling, happy and amazed, both at the strong kick and the sight of Benvolio kneeling before her and with his hands splayed on her belly, eyes wide and big smile as he felt it too. She'd covered his hand with hers, and patted his cheek with her free hand, and she'd seen the glimmer in Benvolio's eyes, the hitch in his breathing. That night he'd pulled her on top of him and Rosaline had never felt this worshipped before; his hands had been restless, and his lips and his tongue and his teeth, and he'd made her feel like a goddess as she'd undulated above him. Being with him like this, when her body felt like it was singing, sensitive and humming with energy and desire, was something else entirely. Rosaline couldn't get enough of him then, and it reminded her of the first few weeks after they'd first laid together, when every touch was a thrill, a discovery; now she felt like she was rediscovering her own body, pleasure and sensations stronger, more vivid.

Christmas passed, and the new year; Rosaline's stomach kept growing to an almost uncomfortable size, which became their families' favorite subject of conversation. Benvolio's uncle boasted like he'd been the one making that baby, praising the Montagues for their strong, healthy babies throughout their entire bloodline. Only Livia and Benvolio sympathized with her inconvenience, even if Rosaline had found them both chuckling softly at the waddle in her gait.

The invitation for the spring ball came but they declined it as the physician had announced that it would only now be a matter of days before the baby was born. Lord Capulet had allowed Livia to stay at their house for a while, for support, and so Rosaline spent almost all of her days resting in bed when Benvolio was watching her, or pacing the house and the gardens with her sister when he wasn't, hoping that it would speed up the process. These last days were the worst, and Rosaline felt her impatience grow; the nursery was ready, the announcement for the birth of their child already written down and only missing a name - but it seemed that the little Montague was in no hurry.

She was standing in the threshold of the nursery one morning when Benvolio came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, an almost impossible task considering the size of her belly. He settled them above the bump, and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. "You should be resting," he chided her. "What if you start going into labor here as you stand, and the baby slips on the floor?"

Rosaline rolled her eyes. "It is so reassuring to see you know so many things about how babies are born," she snorted, but still relaxed against him. "Can't you try and squeeze it out of me again?" she asked, hopeful.

Benvolio chuckled as he led her to the study and helped lowering her down in her favorite armchair, the compromise they'd reached after she'd threatened to cut him down if he tried to make her spend one more day in bed. He dragged his own chair near, facing her as he propped her legs on his lap and started rubbing at her feet. "I can only imagine how tiresome this must be for you," he said, and Rosaline felt her annoyance soften.

It had been almost a week since the physician had advised that she should rest in bed and wait for labor to begin, Rosaline just wanted to meet her baby already. Benvolio was just as impatient but better at hiding it, or at least better at taking care of her emotional state and sore feet. Rosaline sank deeper into her seat as Benvolio rubbed and squeezed, pressing in all the right spots, and she believed she could let herself relax enough to fall back asleep.

Except that it was in that moment that their child decided to come to the world.

Everything happened very quickly at first; her water broke and Benvolio called out for Livia and the maids, and one moment she was in the study, the next lying in bed, surrounded by her nurse as Livia ordered the maids around, who came back to the bedroom with clean cloths and towels, hot water, and the physician within the next hour. And then everything went very slowly; the pain was vivid and intense at moments, and left as soon as it'd come at other times. At her side Benvolio was unraveling, pacing across their chambers like a madman.

"Benvolio," she tried to call out, to calm him down, and Rosaline found that this helped, focusing on him instead of her growing discomfort and the waves of pain that ran through her body. "Benvolio, come here," she beckoned.

Her nurse watched him with a wary eye, as if she would throw him out if he started panicking too much, and Rosaline wanted him here, if he felt like it, so she did her best to soothe him. Benvolio came to sit at her side and Rosaline brushed his hair away, patted his cheek. She kissed him every time it hurt, tangled her fingers in his hair and tugged when it became too much, and Benvolio laced his fingers with hers, squeezing back every time she did.

"Did you pick a name?" Livia asked, and Rosaline felt so grateful for her sister, how calm she was in the middle of the storm.

"Not yet," Benvolio replied. "Rosaline wanted to see the baby first."

Another wave of pain rushed through her, and Rosaline bit down at her lip harder. "I think - I think it's time, isn't it?" she breathed through the pain, catching the physician's eye. "Tell me it is."

The old man nodded, and then everything happened in that pocket of time between very fast and very slow. She was asked to push, and she did; Benvolio held onto her hand and told her she was doing great, and she believed him. Livia ran a wet cloth over her forehead, Benvolio kissed her palm, and an hour later, or five, or perhaps just a few minutes later, loud cries filled the room.

Rosaline sank back into her pillows, her breathing heavy and erratic. Livia rushed to the windows, opening them wide and letting the fresh spring breeze in. Benvolio kissed at her temple, her cheek, murmuring sweet nothings Rosaline could barely hear above the deafening sound of her heartbeat. He got up and walked around the bed to her nurse, who was holding a bundle in her arms. A baby. _Their baby_. Rosaline held out her arms, and her throat felt raw and her mouth dry but her nurse understood her perfectly. She placed the bundle in Benvolio's arms; he looked completely taken aback, almost out of it, and Rosaline saw as the nurse gently guided him back to her side of the bed.

"It's a girl," the nurse said with a smile. "A healthy, strong baby girl."

With a push at his elbow she made Benvolio sit, and only then did his eyes leave the bundle in his arms to look at Rosaline. "It's a girl," he echoed, emotion catching in his voice as it slightly trembled. Rosaline leaned into him, peeking at the baby in his arms. "Look at her..." Benvolio said softly, and Rosaline could see that his fingers were trembling just as much as he lifted one hand to the baby's cheek and brushed a single fingertip against her soft skin.

There were tears in his blue eyes, and Rosaline snuggled closer, leaned her head against his arm as she looked at their baby. A girl, a _daughter_. She'd imagined a boy for so long, it seemed almost surreal, and yet here she was, cute little nose and curly black hair and dark blue eyes as she looked up at them and squirmed in Benvolio's arms.

Gently he transferred the baby into her waiting arms, and settled back at her side, one arm wrapping around her shoulder as his free hand returned to the baby. Rosaline couldn't get enough of looking at their daughter; her skin was darker than his but paler than her own, and she had her mouth but his chin, long fingers like Benvolio's and thick, long lashes like her own. "Welcome home," Rosaline managed to say, and found that her voice was trembling like Benvolio's had. She touched her daughter's cheek, brushed her fingers in her soft hair, and pressed a kiss to her wrinkled forehead. A girl. Rosaline still couldn't believe it. "I know she is not what was expected -" she started to say.

Benvolio kissed her then, swallowing her worries. "She's _perfect_ ," he interrupted her, and this time his voice was firm, unwavering, and infinitely gentle at the same time. "A boy would have been the heir everyone _else_ wanted, but as a girl - she's entirely _ours_." He stroked the baby's little hand and she gripped at his finger, and Rosaline felt tears well up in her own eyes at the sight.

Livia went to sit on the other side of the bed, and Rosaline felt exhausted and sweaty, but she could not let go of her daughter so quickly. She leaned back into Benvolio's side, resting her head on his shoulder, and she felt him press a kiss to the crown of her hair. Livia beamed at her niece, and Benvolio beamed at her and the baby, and when the tears started rolling Rosaline did not bother wiping them. She was happy, perhaps happier than she'd even been.

Hours later, after both she and the baby were bathed and dressed and properly fed, Rosaline slipped beneath new, clean sheets, and exhaustion started pulling her under. Benvolio sat at her side, holding their daughter to his chest as she slept soundly, his nose pressed into her hair as he inhaled her sweet baby scent.

"I'm going to want this again," Rosaline told him sleepily as she leaned into him, her head on his lap as she allowed her eyes to droop slowly.

"Again and again," Benvolio promised.

 

* * *

 

By the time their daughter started dashing in the gardens and Benvolio had to run after her to stop her from devouring the cherries that had fallen to the grounds, another girl came, and then a third.

When a boy came the eldest frowned at the baby in her mother's arms, not understanding the error in the pattern, before she lifted her chin high and proud and yanked her sisters to the gardens.

 

* * *

 

_the end_

 

 

 


End file.
